PERCH  OF  THE 
DEVIL 


BY 


GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  19U,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into 
foreign  languages 


FOURTH  PBINTINQ 


August,  1914 


TO 

MR.  FRANK  J.  EDWARDS  AND 
MR.  WILTON  G.  BROWN 

OF  HELENA,  MONTANA 


383021 


PART  I 


PERCH  OF  THE  DEVIL 


PART  I 


"HP HE  shining  mountains,"  said  Gregory  Compton  softly, 

*-  throwing  back  his  head,  his  eyes  travelling  along  the 
hard  bright  outlines  above  the  high  valley  in  which  his 
ranch  lay.  ' '  The  shining  mountains.  That  is  what  the  In 
dians  called  them  before  the  white  man  came." 

His  wife  yawned  frankly.  "Pity  they  don't  shine 
inside  as  well  as  out — what  we've  got  of  'em." 

* '  Who  knows  ?    Who  knows  ? ' ' 

* '  We  don 't.    That 's  the  trouble. ' ' 

But  although  she  spoke  tartly,  she  nestled  into  his  arm, 
for  she  was  not  unamiable,  she  had  been  married  but  six 
teen  months,  and  she  was  still  fond  of  her  husband  "in  a 
way ' ' ;  moreover,  although  she  cherished  resentments  open 
and  secret,  she  never  forgot  that  she  had  won  a  prize  "as 
men  go. ' '  Many  girls  in  Butte*  had  wanted  to  marry  Greg 
ory  Compton,  not  only  because  he  had  inherited  a  ranch  of 
eleven  hundred  and  sixty  acres,  but  because,  comprehen 
sively,  he  was  superior  to  the  other  young  men  of  his  class. 
He  had  graduated  from  the  High  School  before  he  was 
sixteen;  then  after  three  years'  work  on  the  ranch  under 
his  unimaginative  father,  he  had  announced  his  intention 
of  leaving  the  State  unless  permitted  to  attend  the  School 
of  Mines  in  Butte.  The  old  man,  who  by  this  time  had 
taken  note  of  the  formation  of  his  son's  jaw,  gave  his  con 
sent  rather  than  lose  the  last  of  his  children ;  and  for  two 
years  and  a  semester  Gregory  had  been  the  most  brilliant 
figure  in  the  School  of  Mines. 

"Old  Man  Compton,"  who  had  stampeded  from  his 
small  farm  in  northern  New  York  in  the  sixties  to  meet 

*  Pronounced    Bute. 


2        PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

with  little  success  iu  the  mines,  but  more  as  a  rancher,  had 
been  as  typical  a  hayseed  as  ever  punctuated  politics  with 
tobacco  juice  in  front  of  a  corner  grocery-store,  but  had 
promised  his  wife  on  her  death-bed  that  their  son  should 
have  "  schooling. "  Mrs.  Compton,  who  had  arrived  in 
Montana  soon  after  the  log  house  was  built,  was  a  large, 
dark,  silent  woman,  whom  none  of  her  distant  neighbours 
had  ever  claimed  to  know.  It  was  currently  believed  in 
the  New  York  village  whence  she  came  that  in  the  early 
days  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  sturdy  Yerrooy  stock 
had  been  abruptly  crossed  by  the  tribe  of  the  Oneida.  An 
cient  history  in  a  new  country  is  necessarily  enveloped  in 
mist,  but  although  the  children  she  had  lost  had  been  fair 
and  nondescript  like  their  father,  her  youngest,  and  her 
only  son,  possessed  certain  characteristics  of  the  higher 
type  of  Indian.  He  was  tall  and  lightly  built,  graceful, 
supple,  swift  of  foot,  with  the  soft  tread  of  the  panther; 
and  although  his  skin  was  no  darker  than  that  of  the  aver 
age  brunette,  it  acquired  significance  from  the  intense 
blackness  of  his  hair,  the  thin  aquiline  nose,  the  long,  nar 
row  eyes,  the  severe  and  stolid  dignity  of  expression  even 
in  his  earlier  years. 

He  had  seemed  to  the  girls  of  the  only  class  he  knew  in 
Butte  an  even  more  romantic  figure  than  the  heroes  of 
their  magazine  fiction,  particularly  as  he  took  no  notice  of 
them  until  he  met  Ida  Hook  at  a  picnic  and  surrendered 
his  heart. 

Ida,  forced  by  her  thrifty  mother  to  accept  employment 
with  a  fashionable  dressmaker,  and  consumed  with  envy 
of  the  "West  Siders"  whose  measurements  she  took,  did 
not  hesitate  longer  than  feminine  prudence  dictated.  Be 
fore  she  gave  her  hair  its  nightly  brushing  her  bold  un- 
pedantic  hand  had  covered  several  sheets  of  pink  note-paper 
with  the  legend,  "Mrs.  Gregory  Compton,"  the  while  she 
assured  herself  there  was  "no  sweller  name  on  West 
Broadway. "  To  do  her  justice,  she  also  thrilled  with 
young  passion,  for  more  than  her  vanity  had  responded 
to  the  sombre  determined  attentions  of  the  man  who  had 
been  the  indifferent  hero  of  so  many  maiden  dreams.  Al 
though  she  longed  to  be  a  Copper  Queen,  she  was  too 
young  to  be  altogether  hard ;  and,  now  that  her  hour  was 
come,  every  soft  enchantment  of  her  sex  awoke  to  bind 
and  blind  her  mate. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL         3 

Gregory  Compton's  indifference  to  women  had  been 
more  pretended  than  real,  although  an  occasional  wild 
night  on  The  Flat  had  interested  him  far  more  than  pic 
nics  and  dances  where  the  girls  used  no  better  grammar 
than  the  ' '  sporting  women ' '  and  were  far  less  amusing.  He 
went  to  this  picnic  to  please  his  old  school  friend,  Mark 
Blake,  and  because  Nine  Mile  Canon  had  looked  very 
green  and  alluring  after  the  June  rains  when  he  had  ridden 
through  it  alone  the  day  before.  The  moment  he  stood 
before  Ida  Hook,  staring  into  the  baffling  limpid  eyes, 
about  which  heavy  black  lashes  rose  and  fell  and  met  and 
tangled  and  shot  apart  in  a  series  of  bedevilling  manoeu 
vres,  he  believed  himself  to  be  possessed  by  that  intimate 
soul-seeking  desire  that  nothing  but  marriage  can  satisfy. 
He  kept  persistently  at  her  side,  his  man's  instinct  prompt 
ing  the  little  attentions  women  value  less  than  they  de 
mand.  He  also  took  more  trouble  to  interest  her  verbally 
than  was  normal  in  one  whom  nature  had  prompted  to 
silence,  and  he  never  would  learn  the  rudiments  of  small 
talk;  but  his  brain  was  humming  in  tune  with  his  eager 
awakened  pulses,  and  Ida  was  too  excited  and  exultant  to 
take  note  of  his  words.  "It  was  probably  about  mines, 
anyway,"  she  confided  to  her  friends,  Kuby  and  Pearl 
Miller.  "Nobody  talks  about  anything  else  long  in  this 
old  camp." 

Gregory's  infatuation  was  by  no  means  reduced  by  the 
fact  that  no  less  than  six  young  men  contended  for  the 
favour  of  Miss  Hook.  She  was  the  accredited  beauty  of 
Butte,  for  even  the  ladies  of  the  West  Side  had  noticed 
and  discussed  her  and  hoped  that  their  husbands  and 
brothers  had  not.  It  was  true  that  her  large  oval  blue- 
grey  eyes,  set  like  Calliope's,  were  as  shallow  as  her  voice; 
but  the  lids  were  so  broad  and  white,  and  the  lashes  so 
silky  and  oblique,  that  the  critical  faculty  of  man  was 
drugged,  if  dimly  prescient.  Her  cheeks  were  a  trifle  too 
full,  her  nose  of  a  type  unsung  in  marble;  but  what  of 
that  when  her  skin  was  as  white  as  milk,  the  colour  in 
cheek  and  lips  of  a  clear  transparent  coral,  that  rarest 
and  most  seductive  of  nature's  reds,  her  little  teeth  enam 
elled  like  porcelain?  And  had  she  not  every  captivating 
trick,  from  active  eyelash  to  the  sudden  toss  of  her  small 
head  on  its  long  round  throat,  even  to  the  dilating  nostril 
which  made  her  nose  for  the  moment  look  patrician  and 


4        PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

thin?  Her  figure,  too,  with  its  hoyish  hips,  thin  flexible 
waist,  and  full  low  bust,  which  she  carried  with  a  fine 
upright  swing,  was  made  the  most  of  in  a  collarless  blouse, 
closely  fitting  skirt,  and  narrow  dark  belt. 

Miss  Hook,  although  her  expression  was  often  wide-eyed 
and  innocent,  was  quite  cynically  aware  of  her  power  over 
the  passions  of  men.  More  than  one  man  of  high  salary  or 
recent  fortune  had  tried  to  ' '  annex ' '  her,  as  she  airily  put 
it ;  her  self-satisfaction  and  the  ever-present  sophistications 
of  a  mining  town  saving  her  from  anything  so  gratuitous 
as  outraged  maidenhood. 

The  predatory  male  and  his  promises  had  never  tempted 
her,  and  it  was  her  boast  that  she  had  never  set  foot  in 
the  road-houses  of  The  Flat.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
long  since  to  live  on  the  West  Side,  the  fashionable  end 
of  Butte,  and  was  wise  enough,  to  quote  her  own  words, 
to  know  that  the  straight  and  narrow  was  the  only  direct 
route.  Ambition,  her  sleepless  desire  to  be  a  grand  dame 
(which  she  pronounced  without  any  superfluous  accent), 
was  stronger  than  vanity  or  her  natural  love  of  pleasure. 
By  the  ordinary  romantic  yearnings  of  her  age  and  sex 
she  was  unhampered ;  but  when  she  met  Gregory  Compton, 
she  played  the  woman's  game  so  admirably  the  long  day 
through  that  she  brushed  her  heavy  black  hair  at  night 
quite  satisfied  he  would  propose  when  she  gave  him  his 
chance.  This  she  withheld  for  several  days,  it  being  both 
pleasant  and  prudent  to  torment  him.  He  walked  home 
with  her  every  afternoon  from  the  dressmaking  establish 
ment  on  North  Main  Street  to  her  mother's  cottage  in  East 
Granite,  to  be  dismissed  at  the  gate  coyly,  reluctantly, 
indifferently,  but  always  with  a  glance  of  startled  wonder 
from  the  door. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  she  gave  him  to  understand 
that  she  should  attend  the  Friday  Night  dance  at  Colum 
bia  Gardens,  and  expected  him  to  escort  her.  Gregory, 
who  by  this  time  was  reduced  to  a  mere  prowling  instinct 
projected  with  fatal  instantaneity  from  its  napping  ego, 
was  as  helpless  a  victim  as  if  born  a  fool.  He  thought 
himself  the  most  fortunate  of  men  to  receive  permission  to 
sit  beside  her  on  the  open  car  during  the  long  ride  to  the 
Gardens,  to  pay  for  the  greater  number  of  her  waltzes,  to 
be,  in  short,  her  beau  for  the  night. 

The  evening  of  Friday  at  Columbia  Gardens  is  Society 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL1        5 

Night  for  all  respectable  Butte,  irrespective  of  class;  the 
best  floor  and  the  airiest  hall  in  Silver  Bow  County  prov 
ing  an  irresistible  incentive  to  democracy.  Moreover, 
Butte  is  a  city  of  few  resources,  and  the  Gardens  at  night 
look  like  fairyland :  the  immense  room  is  hung  with  Chinese 
lanterns  depending  from  the  rafters,  the  music  is  the  best 
in  Montana;  and  the  richer  the  women,  the  plainer  their 
frocks.  A  sort  of  informal  propriety  reigns,  and  million 
aire  or  clerk  pays  ten  cents  for  the  privilege  of  dancing 
with  his  lady. 

Ida,  who  had  expended  five  of  her  hard-earned  dollars 
on  a  bottle  of  imported  perfume,  wore  a  white  serge  suit 
cut  as  well  as  any  in  "the  grand  dame  bunch."  After 
the  sixth  waltz  she  draped  her  head  and  shoulders  with  a 
coral-pink  scarf  and  led  Gregory,  despite  the  chill  of  June, 
out  to  his  willing  fate.  The  park  was  infested  by  other 
couples,  walking  briskly  to  keep  themselves  warm,  and  so 
were  the  picnic  grounds  where  the  cottonwoods  and  Cana 
dian  poplars  were  being  coaxed  to  grow,  now  that  the 
smelters  which  had  reduced  the  neighbourhood  of  Butte  to 
its  bones  had  been  removed  to  Anaconda. 

But  farther  up  the  canon  no  one  but  themselves  ad 
ventured,  and  here  Gregory  was  permitted  to  ask  this 
unique  creature,  provided  with  a  new  and  maddening 
appeal  to  the  senses,  to  renounce  her  kingdom  and  live  on 
a  ranch. 

It  was  all  very  crude,  even  to  the  blatant  moon,  which  in 
the  thin  brilliant  atmosphere  of  that  high  altitude  swings 
low  with  an  almost  impudent  air  of  familiarity,  and  grins 
in  the  face  of  sentiment.  But  to  Gregory,  who  was  at 
heart  passionate  and  romantic,  it  was  a  soul-quickening 
scene:  the  blazing  golden  disk  poised  on  the  very  crest  of 
the  steep  mountain  before  them,  the  murmur  of  water,  the 
rustling  young  leaves,  the  deep-breasted  orientally  per 
fumed  woman  with  the  innocent  wondering  eyes.  The 
moon  chuckled  and  reminded  his  exacting  mistress,  Nature, 
that  were  he  given  permission  to  scatter  some  of  his  vast 
experience  instead  of  the  seductive  beams  that  had  ac 
cumulated  it,  this  young  man  with  his  natural  distinction 
of  mind,  and  already  educated  beyond  his  class,  would 
enjoy  a  sudden  clarity  of  vision  and  perceive  the  defects 
of  grammar  and  breeding  in  this  elemental  siren  with 
nothing  but  Evian  instincts  to  guide  her. 


6        PERCH   OF   THE   DEVIL 

But  the  dutiful  old  search-light  merely  whipped  up  the 
ancestral  memories  in  Gregory 's  subconscious  brain ;  more 
over,  gave  him  courage.  He  made  love  with  such  passion 
and  tenderness  that  Ida,  for  once  elemental,  clung  to  him 
so  long  and  so  ardently  that  the  grinning  moon  whisked 
off  his  beam  in  disgust  and  retired  behind  a  big  black 
cloud — which  burst  shortly  afterwards  and  washed  out  the 
car  tracks. 

They  were  married  in  July,  and  Mrs.  Hook,  who  had 
worked  for  forty  years  at  tub  and  ironing-board,  moved 
over  to  the  dusty  cemetery  in  September,  at  rest  in  the 
belief  not  only  that  her  too  good-looking  daughter  was 
safely  ' '  planted, ' '  but  was  a  supremely  happy  woman. 

Ida's  passion,  however,  had  been  merely  a  gust  of  youth, 
fed  by  curiosity  and  gratified  ambition;  it  quickly  passed 
in  the  many  disappointments  of  her  married  life.  Gregory 
had  promised  her  a  servant,  but  no  " hired  girl"  could  be 
induced  to  remain  more  than  a  week  on  the  lonely  De 
Smet  Ranch ;  and  Mrs.  Compton  's  temper  finding  its  only 
relief  in  one-sided  quarrels  with  her  Chinese  cooks,  even 
the  philosophical  Oriental  was  prone  to  leave  on  a  moment's 
notice.  There  were  three  hired  men  and  three  in  the 
family,  after  John  Oakley  came,  to  cook  and  " clean  up" 
for,  and  there  were  weeks  at  a  time  when  Ida  was  obliged 
to  rise  with  the  dawn  and  occupy  her  large  and  capable 
but  daintily  manicured  hands  during  many  hours  of  the 
day. 

Gregory's  personality  had  kindled  what  little  imagina 
tion  she  had  into  an  exciting  belief  in  his  power  over  life 
and  its  corollary,  the  world 's  riches.  Also,  having  in  mind 
the  old  Indian  legend  of  the  great  chief  who  had  turned 
into  shining  gold  after  death  and  been  entombed  in  what 
was  now  known  prosaically  as  the  De  Smet  Ranch,  she  had 
expected  Gregory  to  " strike  it  rich"  at  once. 

But  although  there  were  several  prospect  holes  on  the 
ranch,  dug  by  Gregory  in  past  years,  he  had  learned  too 
much,  particularly  of  geology,  during  his  two  years  at  the 
School  of  Mines  to  waste  any  more  time  digging  holes  in 
the  valley  or  bare  portions  of  the  hills.  If  a  ledge  existed 
it  was  beneath  some  tangle  of  shrub  or  tree-roots,  and  he 
had  no  intention  of  denuding  his  pasture  until  he  was 
prepared  to  sell  his  cattle. 

He  told  her  this  so  conclusively  a  month  after  they  were 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL         7 

married  that  she  had  begged  him  to  raise  sugar  beets  and 
build  a  factory  in  Butte  (which  he  would  be  forced  to 
superintend),  reminding  him  that  the  only  factory  in  the 
State  was  in  the  centre  of  another  district  and  near  the 
southern  border,  and  that  sugar  ranged  from  six  to  seven 
dollars  a  hundredweight.  He  merely  laughed  at  this  sug 
gestion,  although  he  was  surprised  at  her  sagacity,  for, 
barring  a  possible  democratic  victory,  there  was  room  for 
two  beet-sugar  factories  in  Montana.  But  he  had  other 
plans,  although  he  gave  her  no  hint  of  them,  and  had  no 
intention  of  complicating  his  life  with  an  uncongenial  and 
exacting  business. 

By  unceasing  personal  supervision  he  not  only  made  the 
ranch  profitable  and  paid  a  yearly  dividend  to  his  three 
aunts,  according  to  the  terms  of  his  father's  will,  but  for 
the  last  two  years,  after  replacing  or  adding  to  his  stock, 
he  had  deposited  a  substantial  sum  in  the  bank,  occasion 
ally  permitting  his  astute  friend,  Mark  Blake,  to  turn  over 
a  few  hundreds  for  him  on  the  stock-market.  This  was 
the  heyday  of  the  American  farmer,  and  the  De  Smet 
cattle  brought  the  highest  prices  in  the  stock-yards  for 
beef  on  the  hoof.  He  also  raised  three  crops  of  alfalfa  a 
year  to  insure  his  live  stock  against  the  lean  days  of  a 
Eocky  Mountain  winter.  He  admitted  to  Ida  that  he  could 
afford  to  sink  a  shaft  or  drive  a  tunnel  in  one  of  his  hills, 
but  added  that  he  should  contemplate  nothing  of  the  sort 
until  he  had  finished  his  long-delayed  course  in  the  School 
of  Mines,  and  had  thousands  to  throw  away  on  develop 
ment  work,  miners,  and  machinery.  At  this  time  he  saw 
no  immediate  prospect  of  resuming  the  studies  interrupted 
by  the  death  of  his  father:  until  John  Oakley  came,  eight 
months  after  his  marriage,  he  knew  of  no  foreman  to  trust 
but  himself. 

Ida  desired  the  life  of  the  city  for  other  reasons  than  its 
luxuries  and  distractions.  Her  fallow  brain  was  shrewd 
and  observing,  although  often  crude  in  its  deductions. 
She  soon  realised  that  the  longer  she  lived  with  her  hus 
band  the  less  she  understood  him.  Like  all  ignorant  women 
of  any  class  she  cherished  certain  general  estimates  of 
men,  and  in  her  own  class  it  was  assumed  that  the  retiring 
men  were  weak  and  craven,  the  bold  ones  necessarily  lack 
ing  in  that  refinement  upon  which  their  young  lady  friends 
prided  themselves.  Ida  had  found  that  Gregory,  bold  as 


8        PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL' 

his  wooing  had  been,  and  arrogantly  masculine  as  he  was 
in  most  things,  not  only  had  his  shynesses  but  was  far 
more  refined  and  sensitive  than  herself.  She  was  a  woman 
who  prided  herself  upon  her  theories,  and  disliked  having 
them  upset;  still  more  not  knowing  where  she  was  at,  to 
use  her  own  spirited  vernacular.  She  began  to  be  haunted 
by  the  fear  of  making  some  fatal  mistake,  living,  as  she 
did,  in  comparative  isolation  with  him.  Not  only  was  her 
womanly  pride  involved,  as  well  as  a  certain  affection 
born  of  habit  and  possible  even  to  the  selfish,  rooted  as  it 
is  in  the  animal  function  of  maternity,  but  she  had  supreme 
faith  in  his  future  success  and  was  determined  to  share  it. 
She  was  tired,  however,  of  attempting  to  fathom  the 
intense  reserves  and  peculiarities  of  that  silent  nature,  of 
trying  to  live  up  to  him.  She  was  obliged  to  resort  to 
"play-acting";  and,  fully  aware  of  her  limitations,  despite 
her  keen  self-appreciation,  was  in  constant  fear  that  she 
would  "make  a  grand  mess  of  it."  Gregory's  eyes  could 
be  very  penetrating,  and  she  had  discovered  that  although 
he  never  told  funny  stories,  nor  appeared  to  be  particu 
larly  amused  at  hers,  he  had  his  own  sense  of  humour. 


II 

THE  young  couple  stood  together  in  the  dawn,  the  blue 
dawn  of  Montana.  The  sky  was  as  cold  and  bright 
as  polished  silver,  but  the  low  soft  masses  of  cloud  were 
blue,  the  glittering  snow  on  the  mountain  peaks  was  blue, 
the  smooth  snow  fields  on  the  slopes  and  in  the  valley  were 
blue.  Nor  was  it  the  blue  of  azure  or  of  sapphire,  but  a 
deep  lovely  cool  polaric  blue,  born  in  the  inverted  depths 
of  Montana,  and  forever  dissociated  from  art. 

It  was  an  extramundane  scene,  and  it  had  drawn  Gregory 
from  his  bed  since  childhood,  but  to  Ida,  brought  up  in  a 
town,  and  in  one  whose  horizons  until  a  short  while  ago 
had  always  been  obscured  by  the  poisonous  haze  of  smelters, 
and  ores  roasted  in  the  open,  it  was  "  weird. "  Novels  had 
informed  her  that  sunrises  were  pink,  or,  at  the  worst, 
grey.  There  was  something  mysterious  in  this  cold  blue 
dawn  up  in  the  snow  fields,  and  she  hated  mystery.  But 
as  it  appeared  to  charm  Gregory,  she  played  up  to  him 
when  he  "dragged"  her  out  to  look  at  it;  and  she  endeav 
oured  to  do  so  this  morning  although  her  own  ego  was 
rampant. 

Gregory  drew  her  closer,  for  she  still  had  the  power  to 
enthrall  him  at  times.  He  understood  the  resources  within 
her  shallows  as  little  as  she  understood  his  depths,  but 
although  her  defects  in  education  and  natural  equipment 
had  long  since  appalled  him,  he  was  generally  too  busy  to 
think  about  her,  and  too  masculine  to  detect  that  she  was 
playing  a  part.  This  morning,  although  he  automatically 
responded  to  her  blandishments,  he  was  merely  sensible 
of  her  presence,  and  his  eyes,  the  long  watchful  eyes  of 
the  Indian,  were  concentrated  upon  the  blue  light  that 
poured  from  the  clouds  down  upon  the  glistening  peaks. 
Ida  knew  that  this  meant  he  was  getting  ready  to  make  an 
announcement  of  some  sort,  and  longed  to  shake  it  out  of 
him.  Not  daring  to  outrage  his  dignity  so  far,  she  drew 
the  fur  robe  that  enveloped  them  closer  and  rubbed  her 

9 


10      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

soft  hair  against  his  chin.  It  was  useless  to  ask  him  to 
deliver  himself  until  he  was  "good  and  ready",  but  the 
less  direct  method  sometimes  prevailed. 

Suddenly  he  came  out  with  it. 

"I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go  back  to  the  School." 

"Back  to  school — are  you  loony?" 

' '  The  School  of  Mines,  of  course.  I  can  enter  the  Junior 
Class  where  I  left  off;  earlier  in  fact,  as  I  had  finished 
the  first  semester.  Besides,  I've  been  going  over  all  the 
old  ground  since  Oakley  came." 

"Is  that  what's  in  all  them  books." 

"Those,  dear." 

" Those.    Mining  Engineer's  a  lot  sweller  than  rancher." 

"Please  don't  use  that  word." 

"Lord,  Greg,  you're  as  particular  as  if  you'd 
been  brought  up  in  Frisco  or  Chicago,  instead  of  on  a 
ranch. ' ' 

He  laughed  outright  and  pinched  her  ear.  "I  use  a 
good  deal  of  slang  myself — only,  there  are  some  words 
that  irritate  me — I  can  hardly  explain.  It  doesn't  mat 
ter." 

"Greg,"  she  asked  with  sudden  suspicion,  "why  are 
you  goin'  in  for  a  profession?  Have  you  given  up  hopes 
of  strikin'  it  rich  on  this  ranch?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  never  relinquish  that  dream."  He  spoke 
so  lightly  that  even  had  she  understood  him  better  she 
could  not  have  guessed  that  the  words  leapt  from  what 
he  believed  to  be  the  deepest  of  his  passions.  "But  what 
has  that  to  do  with  it?  If  there  is  gold  on  the  ranch  I 
shall  be  more  likely  to  discover  it  when  I  know  a  great 
deal  more  about  geology  than  I  do  now,  and  better  able 
to  mine  it  cheaply  after  I  have  learned  all  I  can  of  milling 
and  metallurgy  at  the  School.  But  that  is  not  the  point. 
There  may  be  nothing  here.  I  wish  to  graduate  into  a 
profession  which  not  only  attracts  me  more  than  any  other, 
but  in  which  the  expert  can  always  make  a  large  income. 
Ranching  doesn't  interest  me,  and  with  Oakley  to " 

"What  woke  you  up  so  sudden?" 

"I  have  never  been  asleep."  But  he  turned  away  his 
head  lest  she  see  the  light  in  his  eyes.  "Oakley  gives  me 
my  chance  to  get  out,  that  is  all.  And  I  am  very  glad  for 
your  sake " 

"Aw!"    Her  voice,  ringing  out  with  ecstasy,  converted 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       11 

the  native  syllable  into  music.  "It  means  we  are  goin'  to 
live  in  Butte!" 

"Of  course. " 

"And  I  was  so  took — taken  by  surprise  it  never  dawned 
on  me  till  this  minute.  Now  what  do  you  know  about 
that!" 

"We  shall  have  to  be  very  quiet.  I  cannot  get  my 
degree  until  a  year  from  June — a  year  and  seven  months 
from  now.  I  shall  study  day  and  night,  and  work  in  the 
mines  during  the  winter  and  summer  vacations.  I  cannot 
take  you  anywhere. " 

"Lord  knows  it  can't  be  worse 'n  this.  I'll  have  my 
friends  to  talk  to  and  there's  always  the  movin'  picture 
shows.  Lord,  how  I'd  like  to  see  one." 

"Well,  you  shall,"  he  said  kindly.  "I  wrote  to  Mark 
some  time  ago  and  asked  him  to  give  the  tenant  of  the 
cottage  notice.  As  this  is  the  third  of  the  month  it  must 
be  empty  and  ready  for  us." 

"My  goodness  gracious!"  cried  his  wife  with  pardon 
able  irritation,  "but  you  are  a  grand  one  for  handin'  out 
surprises!  Most  husbands  tell  their  wives  things  as  they 
go  along,  but  you  ruminate  like  a  cow  and  hand  over  the 
cud  when  you're  good  and  ready.  I 'm  sick  of  bein'  treated 
as  if  I  was  a  child." 

"Please  don't  look  at  it  in  that  way.  What  is  the  use 
of  talking  about  things  until  one  is  quite  sure  they  can  be 
accomplished  ? ' ' 

"That's  half  the  fun  of  bein'  married,"  said  Ida  with 
one  of  her  flashes  of  intuition. 

"Is  it?"  Gregory  turned  this  over  in  his  mind,  then, 
out  of  his  own  experience,  rejected  it  as  a  truism.  He 
could  not  think  of  any  subject  he  would  care  to  discuss 
with  his  wife;  or  any  other  woman.  But  he  kissed  her 
with  an  unusual  sense  of  compunction.  "Perhaps  I  liked 
the  idea  of  surprising  you,"  he  said  untruthfully.  "You 
will  be  glad  to  live  in  Butte  once  more?" 

"You  may  bet  your  bottom  dollar  on  that.  When  do 
we  go?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Lands  sakes!  Well,  I'm  dumb.  And  breakfast  has  to 
be  got  if  I  have  had  a  bomb  exploded  under  me.  That 
Chink  was  doin'  fine  when  I  left,  but  the  Lord  knows " 

She  walked  toward  the  rear  of  the  house,  temper  in  the 


12      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

swing  of  her  hips,  her  head  tossed  high.  Although  re 
joicing  at  the  prospect  of  living  in  town,  she  was  both 
angry  and  vaguely  alarmed,  as  she  so  often  had  been 
before,  at  the  unimaginable  reserves,  the  unsuspected 
mental  activities,  and  the  sudden  strikings  of  this  life- 
partner  who  should  have  done  his  thinking  out  loud. 

"Lord  knows,"  thought  Mrs.  Compton,  as  she  ap 
proached  her  kitchen,  with  secret  intent  to  relieve  her 
feelings  by  "lambasting"  the  Mongolian  and  leaving  Oak 
ley  to  shift  for  himself,  "it's  like  livin'  with  that  there 
Sphinx.  I  don't  s'pose  I'll  ever  get  used  to  him,  and 
maybe  the  time '11  come  when  I  won't  want  to." 


Ill 

(^  EEGORY  stood  for  some  time  longer,  leaning  on  the 
^*  gate  and  waiting  for  the  red  fire  to  rise  above  the 
crystal  mountains.  He  was  eager  for  the  morrow,  not 
only  because  he  longed  to  be  at  the  foundation  stones  of 
his  real  life  but  because  his  mind  craved  the  precise  train 
ing,  the  logical  development,  the  intoxicating  sense  of 
expansion  which  he  had  missed  and  craved  incessantly 
during  the  six  years  that  had  elapsed  since  he  had  been 
torn  from  the  School  of  Mines.  Moreover,  his  heart  was 
light ;  at  last  he  was  able  to  shift  the  great  responsibilities 
of  his  ranch  to  other  shoulders. 

Some  six  months  since,  his  friend,  Mark  Blake,  had 
recommended  to  him  a  young  man  who  not  only  had  grad 
uated  at  the  head  of  his  class  in  the  State  College  of  Agri 
culture,  but  had  served  for  two  years  on  one  of  the  State 
Experimental  Farms.  "What  he  don't  know  about  scien 
tific  farming,  dry,  intensive,  and  all  the  rest,  isn't  worth 
shucks,  old  man,"  Blake  had  written.  "He's  as  honest 
as  they  come,  and  hasn't  a  red  to  do  the  trick  himself, 
but  wants  to  go  on  a  ranch  as  foreman,  and  farm  wherever 
there's  soil  of  a  reasonable  depth.  Of  course  he  wants 
a  share  of  the  profits,  but  he's  worth  it  to  you,  for  the 
Lord  never  cut  you  out  for  a  rancher  or  farmer,  well  as 
you  have  done.  What  you  want  is  to  finish  your  course 
and  take  your  degree.  Try  Oakley  out  for  six  months. 
There'll  be  only  one  result.  You're  a  free  man." 

The  contract  had  been  signed  the  day  before.  But  Oak 
ley  had  been  a  welcome  guest  in  the  small  household  for 
more  than  practical  reasons.  Until  the  night  of  his  advent, 
when  the  two  men  sat  talking  until  daylight,  Gregory 
had  not  realised  the  mental  isolation  of  his  married  life. 
Like  all  young  men  he  had  idealised  the  girl  who  made 
the  first  assault  on  his  preferential  passion ;  but  his  brain 
was  too  shrewd,  keen,  practical,  in  spite  of  its  imaginative 
area,  to  harbor  illusions  beyond  the  brief  period  of  novelty. 

13 


14      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

It  had  taken  him  but  a  few  weeks  to  discover  that  although 
his  wife  had  every  charm  of  youth  and  sex,  and  was  by  no 
means  a  fool,  their  minds  moved  on  different  planes,  far 
apart.  He  had  dreamed  of  the  complete  understanding, 
the  instinctive  response,  the  identity  of  tastes,  in  short  of 
companionship,  of  the  final  routing  of  a  sense  of  hopeless 
isolation  he  had  never  lost  consciousness  of  save  when  im 
mersed  in  study. 

Ida  subscribed  for  several  of  the  "cheapest"  of  the 
cheap  magazines,  and,  when  her  Mongolians  were  indul 
gent,  rocked  herself  in  the  sitting-room,  devouring  the 
factory  sweets  and  crude  mental  drugs  with  much  the 
same  spirit  that  revelled  above  bargain  counters  no  matter 
what  the  wares.  She  "lived"  for  the  serials,  and  at 
tempted  to  discuss  the  "characters"  with  her  husband 
and  John  Oakley.  But  the  foreman  was  politely  intolerant 
of  cheap  fiction,  Gregory  open  in  his  disgust. 

He  admitted  unequivocally  that  he  had  made  a  mistake, 
but  assuming  that  most  men  did,  philosophically  concluded 
to  make  the  best  of  it;  women,  after  all,  played  but  a 
small  part  in  a  man's  life.  He  purposed,  however,  that 
she  should  improve  her  mind,  and  would  have  been  glad 
to  move  to  Butte  for  no  other  reason.  He  had  had  a 
sudden  vision  one  night,  when  his  own  mind,  wearied  with 
study,  drifted  on  the  verge  of  sleep,  of  a  lifetime  on  a 
lonely  ranch  with  a  woman  whose  brain  deteriorated  from 
year  to  year,  her  face  faded  and  vacuous,  save  when  ani 
mated  with  temper.  If  the  De  Smet  Eanch  proved  to  be 
mineralised,  Oakley,  his  deliverer,  would  not  be  forgotten. 

He  moved  his  head  restlessly,  his  glance  darting  over 
as  much  of  his  fine  estate  as  it  could  focus,  wondering  when 
it  would  give  up  its  secrets,  in  other  words,  its  gold.  He 
had  never  doubted  that  it  winked  and  gleamed,  and  waited 
for  him  below  the  baffling  surfaces  of  his  land.  Not  for 
millions  down  would  he  have  sold  his  ranch,  renounced 
the  personal  fulfilment  of  that  old  passionate  romance. 

Gregory  Compton  was  a  dreamer,  not  in  the  drifting 
and  aimless  fashion  of  the  visionary,  but  as  all  men  born 
with  creative  powers,  practical  or  artistic,  must  be.  In 
deed,  it  is  doubtful  if  the  artistic  brain — save  possibly 
where  the  abnormal  tracts  are  musical  in  the  highest  sense 
— ever  need,  much  less  develop,  that  leaping  vision,  that 
power  of  visualising  abstract  ideas,  of  the  men  whose  gifts 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       15 

for  bold  and  original  enterprise  enable  them  to  drive  the 
elusive  wealth  of  the  world  first  into  a  corner,  then  into 
their  own  pockets. 

When  one  contemplates  the  small  army  of  men  of  great 
wealth  in  the  world  today,  and,  just  behind,  that  auxiliary 
regiment  endowed  with  the  talent,  the  imagination,  and 
the  grim  assurance  necessary  to  magnetise  the  circulating 
riches  of  our  planet ;  contemptuous  of  those  hostile  millions, 
whose  brains  so  often  are  of  unleavened  dough,  always 
devoid  of  talent,  envious,  hating,  but  sustained  by  the  con 
ceit  which  nature  stores  in  the  largest  of  her  reservoirs  to 
pour  into  the  vacancies  of  the  minds  of  men ;  seldom  hope 
less,  fooling  themselves  with  dreams  of  a  day  when  mere 
brute  numbers  shall  prevail,  and  (human  nature  having 
been  revolutionised  by  a  miracle)  all  men  shall  be  equal 
and  content  to  remain  equal; — when  one  stands  off  and 
contemplates  these  two  camps,  the  numerically  weak  com 
posed  of  the  forces  of  mind,  the  other  of  the  unelectrified 
yet  formidable  millions,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  not  only 
the  high  courage  and  supernormal  gifts  of  the  little  army 
of  pirates,  but  that,  barring  the  rapidly  decreasing  num 
bers  of  explorers  in  the  waste  places  of  the  earth,  in  them 
alone  is  the  last  stronghold  of  the  old  adventurous  spirit 
that  has  given  the  world  its  romance. 

The  discontented,  the  inefficient,  the  moderately  suc 
cessful,  the  failures,  see  only  remorseless  greed  in  the 
great  money  makers.  Their  temper  is  too  personal  to 
permit  them  to  recognise  that  here  are  the  legitimate  in 
heritors  of  the  dashing  heroes  they  enjoy  in  history,  the 
bold  and  ruthless  egos  that  throughout  the  ages  have 
transformed  savagery  into  civilisation,  torpor  into  progress, 
in  their  pursuit  of  gold.  That  these  "doing"  buccaneers 
of  our  time  are  the  current  heroes  of  the  masses,  envious 
or  generous  in  tribute,  the  most  welcome  "copy"  of  the 
daily  or  monthly  press,  is  proof  enough  that  the  spirit  of 
adventure  still  flourishes  in  the  universal  heart,  seldom 
as  modern  conditions  permit  its  expansion.  For  aught  we 
know  it  may  be  this  old  spirit  of  adventure  that  inspires 
the  midnight  burglar  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  road,  not 
merely  the  desire  for  "easy  money."  But  these  are  the 
flotsam.  The  boldest  imaginations  and  the  most  romantic 
hearts  are  sequestered  in  the  American  "big  business" 
men  of  today. 


16      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Gregory  Compton  had  grown  to  maturity  in  the  most 
romantic  subdivision  of  the  United  States  since  California 
retired  to  the  position  of  a  classic.  Montana,  her  long 
winter  surface  a  reflection  of  the  beautiful  dead  face  of 
the  moon,  bore  within  her  arid  body  illimitable  treasure, 
yielding  it  from  time  to  time  to  the  more  ardent  and 
adventurous  of  her  lovers.  Gold  and  silver,  iron,  copper, 
lead,  tungsten,  precious  and  semi-precious  stones — she 
might  have  been  some  vast  heathen  idol  buried  aeons  ago 
when  Babylon  was  but  a  thought  in  the  Creator's  brain, 
and  the  minor  gods  travelled  the  heaving  spaces  to  immure 
their  treasure,  stolen  from  rival  stars. 

Gregory  had  always  individualised  as  well  as  idealised 
his  state,  finding  more  companionship  in  her  cold  mysteries 
than  in  the  unfruitful  minds  of  his  little  world.  His 
youthful  dreams,  when  sawing  wood  or  riding  after  cattle, 
had  been  alternately  of  desperate  encounters  with  Indians 
and  of  descending  abruptly  into  vast  and  glittering  corri 
dors.  The  creek  on  the  ranch  had  given  up  small  quantities 
of  placer  gold,  enough  to  encourage  ' '  Old  Compton, ' '  least 
imaginative  of  men,  to  use  his  pick  up  the  side  of  the 
gulch,  and  even  to  sink  a  shaft  or  two.  But  he  had  wasted 
his  money,  and  he  had  little  faith  in  the  mineral  value  of 
the  De  Smet  Ranch  or  in  his  own  luck.  He  was  a  thrifty, 
pessimistic,  hardworking,  down-east  Presbyterian,  whose 
faith  in  predestination  had  killed  such  roots  of  belief  in 
luck  as  he  may  have  inherited  with  other  attributes  of 
man.  He  sternly  discouraged  his  son's  hopes,  which  the 
silent  intense  boy  expressed  one  day  in  a  sudden  mood  of 
fervour  and  desire  for  sympathy,  bidding  him  hang  on  to 
the  live  stock,  which  were  a  certain  sure  source  of  income, 
and  go  out  and  feed  hogs  when  he  felt  onsettled  like. 

He  died  when  Gregory  was  in  the  midst  of  his  Junior 
year  in  the  School  of  Mines,  and  the  eager  student  was 
obliged  to  renounce  his  hope  of  a  congenial  career,  for  the 
present,  and  assume  control  of  the  ranch.  It  was  heavily 
mortgaged;  his  father's  foreman,  who  had  worked  on  the 
ranch  since  he  was  a  lad,  had  taken  advantage  of  the  old 
man's  failing  mind  to  raise  the  money,  as  well  as  to  obtain 
his  signature  to  the  sale  of  more  than  half  the  cattle.  He 
had  disappeared  with  the  concrete  result  a  few  days  before 
Mr.  Compton 's  death. 

It  was  in  no  serene  spirit  that  Gregory  entered  upon  the 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL      17 

struggle  for  survival  at  the  age  of  twenty-one.  Bitterly 
resenting  his  abrupt  divorce  from  the  School  of  Mines, 
which  he  knew  to  be  the  gateway  to  his  future,  and  his 
faith  in  mankind  dislocated  by  the  cruel  defection  of  one 
•whom  he  had  liked  and  trusted  from  childhood,  he  seethed 
under  his  stolid  exterior  while  working  for  sixteen  hours 
a  day  to  rid  the  ranch  of  its  encumbrance  and  replace  the 
precious  cattle.  But  as  the  greater  part  of  this  time  was 
spent  out  of  doors  he  outgrew  the  delicacy  of  his  youth 
and  earlier  manhood,  and,  with  red  blood  and  bounding 
pulses,  his  bitterness  left  him. 

He  began  to  visit  Butte  whenever  he  could  spare  a  few 
days  from  the  ranch,  to  "look  up"  as  his  one  chum,  Mark 
Blake,  expressed  it;  so  that  by  the  time  he  married  he 
knew  the  life  of  a  Western  mining  town — an  education  in 
itself — almost  as  well  as  he  knew  the  white  and  silent 
spaces  of  Montana.  With  the  passing  of  brooding  and 
revolt  his  old  dreams  revived,  and  he  spent,  until  he  mar 
ried,  many  long  days  prospecting.  He  had  found  nothing 
until  a  few  weeks  ago,  early  in  October,  and  then  the  dis 
covery,  such  as  it  was,  had  been  accidental. 

There  had  been  a  terrific  wind  storm,  beginning  shortly 
after  sundown,  reaching  at  midnight  a  velocity  of  seventy- 
two  miles  an  hour,  and  lasting  until  morning ;  it  had  been 
impossible  to  sleep  or  to  go  out  of  doors  and  see  to  the  well- 
being  of  the  cattle. 

The  wind  was  not  the  Chinook,  although  it  came  out  of 
the  west,  for  it  was  bitterly  cold.  Two  of  the  house  win 
dows  facing  the  storm  were  blown  in  and  the  roof  of  a 
recent  addition  went  off.  As  such  storms  are  uncommon 
in  Montana,  even  Gregory  was  uneasy,  fearing  the  house 
might  go,  although  it  had  been  his  father's  boast  that  not 
even  an  earthquake  could  uproot  it.  After  daybreak  the 
steady  fury  of  the  storm  ceased.  There  was  much  damage 
done  to  the  outbuildings,  but,  leaving  Oakley  to  superin 
tend  repairs,  Gregory  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  over 
the  ranch  to  examine  the  fences  and  brush  sheds.  The 
former  were  intact,  and  the  cattle  were  huddled  in  their 
shelters,  which  were  built  against  the  side  of  a  steep  hill. 
A  few,  no  doubt,  had  drifted  before  the  storm,  but  would 
return  in  the  course  of  the  day.  Here  and  there  a  pine 
tree  had  been  blown  over,  but  the  winter  wheat  and  alfalfa 
were  too  young  to  be  injured. 


18      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

He  rode  towards  the  hill  where  the  wind  had  done  its 
most  conspicuous  damage.  It  was  a  long  steep  hill  of 
granite  near  the  base  and  grey  limestone  above  topped 
with  red  shales,  and  stood  near  the  northeast  corner  of 
the  ranch.  Its  rigid  sides  had  been  relieved  by  a  small 
grove  of  pines;  but  although  in  spring  it  was  gay  with 
anemones  and  primrose  moss,  and  green  until  late  in  July, 
there  was  nothing  on  its  ugly  flanks  at  this  time  of  the 
year  but  sunburnt  grass. 

The  old  pines  had  clung  tenaciously  to  the  inhospitable 
soil  for  centuries,  but  some  time  during  the  night,  still 
clutching  a  mass  of  earth  and  rock  in  their  great  roots, 
they  had  gone  down  before  the  storm. 

Gregory  felt  a  pang  of  distress;  in  his  boyhood  that 
grove  of  pines  had  been  his  retreat ;  there  he  had  dreamed 
his  dreams,  visualised  the  ascending  metals,  forced  up 
ward  from  the  earth's  magma  by  one  of  those  old  titanic 
convulsions  that  make  a  joke  of  the  modern  earthquake,  to 
find  a  refuge  in  the  long  fissures  of  the  cooler  crust,  or  in 
the  great  shattered  zones.  He  knew  something  of  geology 
and  chemistry  when  he  was  twelve,  and  he  l  *  saw ' '  the  great 
primary  deposits  change  their  character  as  they  were  forced 
closer  to  the  surface,  acted  upon  by  the  acids  of  air  and 
water  in  the  oxide  zone. 

There  he  had  lived  down  his  disappointments,  taken  his 
dumb  trouble  when  his  mother  died ;  and  he  had  found  his 
way  blindly  to  the  dark  little  grove  after  his  father's 
funeral  and  he  had  learned  the  wrong  that  had  been  done 
him. 

He  had  not  gone  there  since.  He  had  been  busy  always, 
and  lost  the  habit.  But  now  he  remembered,  and  with 
some  wonder,  for  it  was  the  one  ugly  spot  on  the  ranch, 
save  in  its  brief  springtime,  that  once  it  had  drawn  his 
feet  like  a  magnet.  Hardly  conscious  of  the  act,  he  rode 
to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  dismounted  and  climbed  towards 
the  grove  which  had  stood  about  fifty  feet  from  the  crest. 

The  ruin  was  complete.  The  grove,  which  once  may 
have  witnessed  ancient  rites,  was  lying  with  its  points  in 
the  brown  grass.  Its  gaunt  roots,  packed  close  with  red 
earth  and  pieces  of  rock,  seemed  to  strain  upward  in 
agonised  protest.  Men  deserted  on  the  battlefield  at  night 
look  hardly  more  stricken  than  a  tree  just  fallen. 

As  Gregory  approached  his  old  friends  his  eyes  grew 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       19 

narrower  and  narrower;  his  mind  concentrated  to  a  point 
as  sharp  and  penetrating  as  a  needle.  If  the  storm,  now 
fitful,  had  suddenly  returned  to  its  highest  velocity  he 
would  not  have  known  it.  He  walked  rapidly  behind  the 
vanquished  roots  and  picked  out  several  bits  of  rock  that 
were  embedded  in  the  earth.  Then  he  knelt  down  and 
examined  other  pieces  of  rock  in  the  excavation  where  the 
trees  had  stood.  Some  were  of  a  brownish-yellow  colour, 
others  a  shaded  green  of  rich  and  mellow  tints.  There 
was  no  doubt  whatever  that  they  were  float. 

He  sat  down  suddenly  and  leaned  against  the  roots  of 
the  trees.  Had  he  found  his  "mine"?  Float  indicates 
an  ore  body  somewhere,  and  as  these  particles  had  been 
prevented  from  escaping  by  the  roots  of  trees  incalculably 
old,  it  was  reasonable  to  assume  that  the  ores  were  beneath 
his  feet. 

His  brain  resumed  its  normal  processes,  and  he  deliber 
ately  gave  his  imagination  the  liberty  of  its  youth.  The 
copper  did  not  interest  him,  but  he  stared  at  the  piece  of 
quartz  in  his  hand  as  if  it  had  been  a  seer's  crystal.  He 
saw  great  chambers  of  quartz  flecked  with  free  gold,  con 
nected  by  pipes  or  shoots  equally  rich.  Once  he  frowned, 
the  ruthlessly  practical  side  of  his  intelligence  reminding 
him  that  his  labours  and  hopes  might  be  rewarded  by  a 
shallow  pocket.  But  he  brushed  the  wagging  finger  aside. 
He  could  have  sworn  that  he  felt  the  pull  of  the  metala 
within  the  hill. 

He  was  tired  and  hungry,  but  his  immediate  impulse, 
as  soon  as  he  had  concluded  that  he  had  dreamed  long 
enough,  was  to  go  for  his  tools  and  run  a  cut.  He  sprang 
to  his  feet;  but  he  had  taken  only  a  few  steps  when  he 
turned  and  stared  at  the  gashed  earth,  his  head  a  little  on 
one  side  in  an  attitude  that  always  indicated  he  was  think 
ing  hard  and  with  intense  concentration.  Then  he  set  his 
lips  grimly,  walked  down  the  steep  hillside,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  home.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he 
returned  to  the  hill,  picked  all  the  pieces  of  float  from  the 
soil  between  the  tree-roots,  and  buried  them,  stamping 
down  the  earth.  A  few  days  later  there  was  a  light  fall 
of  snow.  He  returned  once  more  to  the  hill,  this  time 
with  two  of  his  labourers,  who  cut  up  the  trees  and  hauled 
them  away.  For  the  present  his  possible  treasure  vault 
was  restored  to  the  seclusion  of  its  centuries. 


20      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  the  ores  should  stay 
where  they  were  until  he  had  finished  his  education  in 
the  School  of  Mines.  He  had  planned  to  finish  that  course, 
and  what  he  planned  he  was  in  the  habit  of  executing. 
This  was  not  the  time  for  dreams,  nor  for  prospecting,  but 
to  learn  all  that  the  School  could  teach  him.  Then,  if 
there  were  valuable  ore  bodies  in  his  hill  he  could  be  his 
own  manager  and  engineer.  He  knew  that  he  had  some 
thing  like  genius  for  geology,  also  that  many  veins  were 
lost  through  an  imperfect  knowledge  (or  sense)  of  that 
science  in  mining  engineers;  on  the  other  hand,  that  the 
prospector,  in  spite  of  his  much  vaunted  sixth  sense,  often 
failed,  where  the  hidden  ores  were  concerned,  through 
lack  of  scientific  training.  He  determined  to  train  his  own 
faculties  as  far  as  possible  before  beginning  development 
work  on  his  hill.  Let  the  prospector 's  fever  get  possession 
of  him  now  and  that  would  be  the  end  of  study.  The  hill 
would  keep.  It  was  his.  The  ranch  was  patented. 

"When  he  had  finished  the  interment  of  the  float  he  had 
taken  a  small  notebook  from  his  pocket  and  inscribed  a 
date :  June  the  third,  eighteen  months  later.  Not  until  that 
date  would  he  even  ride  past  his  hill. 

Born  with  a  strong  will  and  a  character  endowed  with 
force,  determination  and  a  grimly  passive  endurance,  it 
was  his  pleasure  to  test  and  develop  both.  The  process  was 
satisfactory  to  himself  but  sometimes  trying  to  his  friends. 

Until  this  morning  he  had  not  permitted  his  mind  to 
revert  to  the  subject.  But  although  the  hill — Limestone 
Hill  it  was  called  in  the  commonplace  nomenclature  of 
the  country — was  far  away  and  out  of  the  range  of  his 
vision,  he  could  conjure  it  up  in  its  minutest  external 
detail,  and  he  permitted  himself  this  luxury  for  a  few 
moments  after  his  wife  had  left  him  to  a  welcome  solitude. 
On  this  hill  were  centred  all  his  silent  hopes. 

If  he  had  been  greedy  for  riches  alone  he  would  have 
promoted  a  company  at  once,  if  a  cut  opened  up  a  chamber 
that  assayed  well,  and  reaped  the  harvest  with  little  or  no 
trouble  to  himself.  But  nothing  was  farther  from  his 
mind.  He  wanted  the  supreme  adventure.  He  wanted  to 
find  the  ores  with  his  own  pick.  After  the  adventure, 
then  the  practical  use  of  wealth.  There  was  much  he 
could  do  for  his  state.  He  knew  also  that  in  one  group 
of  brain-cells,  as  yet  unexplored,  was  the  ambition  to  enter 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       21 

the  lists  of  " doing"  men,  and  pit  his  wits  against  the 
best  of  them.  But  he  was  young,  he  would  have  his  ad 
venture,  live  his  dream  first.  Not  yet,  however. 

The  swift  passing  of  his  marital  illusions  had  convinced 
him  that  the  real  passion  of  his  life  was  for  Montana  and 
the  golden  blood  in  her  veins.  Placer  mining  never  had 
interested  him.  He  wanted  to  find  his  treasure  deep  in 
the  jealous  earth.  He  assured  himself  as  he  stood  there 
in  the  blue  dawn  that  it  was  well  to  be  rid  of  love  so  early 
in  the  game,  free  to  devote  himself,  with  no  let  from  wan 
dering  mind  and  mere  human  pulses,  to  preparation  for 
the  greatest  of  all  romances,  the  romance  of  mining.  That 
he  might  ever  crave  the  companionship  of  one  woman  was 
as  remote  from  his  mind  as  the  possibility  of  failure.  To 
learn  all  that  man  and  experience  could  teach  him  of  the 
science  that  has  been  so  great  a  factor  in  the  world's 
progress;  to  magnetise  a  vast  share  of  Earth's  riches, 
first  for  the  hot  work  of  the  battle,  then  for  the  power  it 
would  give  him;  to  conquer  life;  these  were  a  few  of  the 
flitting  dreams  that  possessed  him  as  he  watched  the  red 
flame  lick  the  white  crests  of  the  mountains,  and  the  blue 
clouds  turn  to  crimson;  his  long  sensitive  lips  folded 
closely,  his  narrow  eyes  penetrating  the  mists  of  the  future, 
neither  seeing  nor  considering  its  obstacles,  its  barriers, 
its  disenchantments.  Thrice  happy  are  the  dreamers  of 
the  world,  when  their  imaginations  are  creative,  not  a 
mere  maggot  wandering  through  the  brain  hatching  form 
less  eggs  of  desire  and  discontent.  They  are  the  true  in 
heritors  of  the  centuries,  whether  they  succeed  or  fail  in 
the  eyes  of  men ;  for  they  live  in  vivid  silent  intense  drama 
as  even  they  have  no  power  to  live  and  enjoy  in  mortal 
conditions. 


IV 

HPHE  Comptons  were  quickly  settled  in  the  little  cottage 
•••  in  East  Granite  Street,  for  as  Mrs.  Hook's  furniture 
was  solid  Ida  had  not  sold  it.  There  was  little  to  do,  there 
fore,  but  repaper  the  walls,  build  a  bathroom,  furnish  a 
dining-room,  send  the  parlour  furniture  to  the  upholsterers 
— Ida  had  had  enough  of  horsehair — and  chattel  the 
kitchen. 

Ida  had  several  virtues  in  which  she  took  a  vocal  pride, 
and  not  the  least  of  these  was  housekeeping  in  all  its 
variety.  The  luxurious  side  of  her  nature  might  revel  in 
front  parlours,  trashy  magazines,  rocking-chairs  and  chew 
ing-gum,  but  she  never  indulged  in  these  orgies  unless 
her  house  were  in  order.  After  her  arrival  in  Butte  it 
was  quite  a  month  before  she  gave  a  thought  to  leisure. 
They  spent  most  of  this  time  at  a  hotel,  but  Ida  was  out 
before  the  stores  opened,  and  divided  her  day  between 
the  workmen  at  the  cottage,  the  upholsterer,  and  the  bar 
gain  counter.  She  was  "on  the  job"  every  minute  until 
the  cottage  was  "on  wheels."  Her  taste  was  neither  orig 
inal  nor  artistic,  but  she  had  a  rude  sense  of  effect,  and  a 
passion  for  what  she  called  colour  schemes.  She  boasted 
to  Gregory  at  night,  when  she  had  him  at  her  mercy  at 
the  hotel  dinner  table,  that  although  everything  had  to  be 
cheap  except  the  kitchen  furnishings,  colours  did  not  cost 
any  more  than  black  or  drab.  When  the  cottage  was  in 
order,  and  they  moved  in,  he  saw  its  transfigured  interior 
for  the  first  time.  The  bedroom  was  done  in  a  pink  that 
set  his  teeth  on  edge,  and  the  little  parlour  was  papered, 
upholstered,  carpeted,  cushioned  in  every  known  shade  of 
red. 

"All  you  want  is  a  chromo  or  two  of  Indian  battle 
grounds — just  after,"  he  remarked. 

Ida  interrupted  tartly: 

' '  Well,  I  should  think  you  'd  be  grateful  for  the  contrast 

22 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       23 

to  them  everlasting  white  or  brown  mountains.  We  don't 
get  away  from  them  even  in  town,  now  the  smoke's  gone." 

"One  would  think  Montana  had  no  springtime." 

"Precious  little.  That's  the  reason  I've  got  a  green 
dining-room. ' ' 

Gregory,  who  had  suffered  himself  to  be  pushed  into  an 
armchair,  looked  at  his  wife  speculatively,  as  she  rocked 
herself  luxuriously,  her  eyes  dwelling  fondly  on  the  ma 
genta  paper,  the  crimson  curtains,  the  turkey  red  and 
crushed  strawberry  cushions  of  the  divan,  the  blood-red 
carpet  with  its  still  more  sanguinary  pattern.  What  blind 
struggle  was  going  on  in  that  uninstructed  brain  against 
the  commonplace,  what  seed  of  originality,  perhaps,  striv 
ing  to  shoot  forth  a  green  tip  from  the  hard  crust  of 
ignorance  and  conceit? 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  suggest  the  tillage  of  that 
brain  without  delay,  but,  knowing  her  sensitive  vanity,  cast 
about  for  a  tactful  opening. 

"Do  you  really  intend  to  do  your  own  work?"  he  asked. 
"I  am  more  than  willing  to  pay  for  a  servant." 

"Not  much.  I'm  goin'  to  begin  to  save  up  for  the  future 
right  now.  I'll  put  out  the  wash,  but  it's  a  pity  if  a 
great  husky  girl  like  me  can't  cook  for  two  and  keep  this 
little  shack  clean.  You  ain't  never  goin'  to  be  able  to  say 
I  didn't  help  you  all  I  could." 

Gregory  glowed  with  gratitude  as  he  looked  at  the  beau 
tiful  face  of  his  wife,  flushed  with  the  ardour  of  the  true 
mate. 

"You  are  all  right,"  he  murmured. 

"The  less  we  spend  the  quicker  we'll  get  rich,"  pursued 
Mrs.  Compton.  "I  don't  mind  this  triflin'  work,  but  it 
would  have  made  me  sick  to  stay  much  longer  on  that 
ranch  workin'  away  my  youth  and  looks  and  nothin'  to 
show  for  it.  Now  that  you've  really  begun  on  somethin' 
high-toned  and  that's  bound  to  be  a  go,  I  just  like  the  idea 
of  havin'  a  hand  in  the  job." 

"Ah! —  Well —  If  you  have  this  faith  in  my  power  to 
make  a  fortune — if  you  are  looking  forward  to  being  a 
rich  man's  wife,  to  put  it  crudely — don't  you  think  you 
should  begin  to  prepare  yourself  for  the  position " 

"Now  what  are  you  drivin'  at?"  She  sprang  to  her 
feet.  Her  eyes  blazed.  Her  hands  went  to  her  hips. 
*  *  D  'you  mean  to  say  I  ain  't  good  enough  ?  I  suppose  you  'd 


24       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

be  throwin'  me  over  for  a  grand  dame  when  you  get  up  in 
the  world  like  some  other  millionaires  we  know  of,  let 
alone  politicians  what  get  to  thinkin'  themselves  states 
men,  and  whose  worn-out  old  wives  ain't  good  enough  for 
'em.  Well,  take  this  from  me  and  take  it  straight — I  don 't 
propose  to  wear  out,  and  I  don't  propose " 

1 '  Sit  down.  I  shall  be  a  rich  man  long  before  you  lose 
your  beauty.  Nor  have  I  any  social  ambitions.  The  world 
of  men  is  all  that  interests  me.  But  with  you  it  will  be 
different " 

"You  may  betcherlife  it'll  be  different — some!  When  I 
have  a  cream-coloured  pressed  brick  house  with  white 
trimmings  over  there  in  Millionaire  Gulch  nobody '11  be 
too  good  for  me." 

"You  shall  live  your  life  to  suit  yourself,  in  the  biggest 
house  in  Butte,  if  that  is  what  you  want.  But  there  is 
more  in  it  than  that." 

"Clothes,  of  course.  Gowns!  And  jewels,  and  New 
York — Lord!  wouldn't  I  like  to  swell  up  and  down  Pea 
cock  Ally!  And  Southern  California,  and  Europe,  and 
givin'  balls,  and  bein'  a  member  of  the  Country  Club." 

"All  that,  as  a  matter  of  course!  But  you  would  not 
be  content  with  the  mere  externals.  Whether  you  know 
it  or  not,  Ida,  you  are  an  ambitious  woman."  This  was 
a  mere  gambler's  throw  on  Gregory's  part.  He  knew 
nothing  of  her  ambitions,  and  would  have  called  them  by 
another  name  if  he  had. 

"Not  know  it?  Well,  you  may  just  betcherlife  I  know 
it!" 

"But  hardly  where  ambition  leads.  No  sooner  would 
you  be  settled  in  a  fine  house,  accustomed  to  your  new  toys, 
than  you  would  want  society.  I  don't  mean  that  you 
would  have  any  difficulty  gaining  admittance  to  Butte 
society,  for  it  is  said  that  none  in  the  world  is  more  hos 
pitable  and  less  particular.  But  whether  you  make  friends 
of  the  best  people  here,  much  less  become  a  leader,  de 
pends—well,  upon  several  things " 

"Fire  away,"  said  Ida  sulkily.  "You  must  be  consid 
erable  in  earnest  to  talk  a  blue  streak ! ' ' 

"Business  may  take  me  to  New  York  from  time  to  time, 
but  my  home  shall  remain  here.  I  never  intend  to  aban 
don  my  state  and  make  a  fool  of  myself  on  New  York's 
doorstep  as  so  many  Montanans  have  done.  Nail  up  that 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       25 

fact  and  never  forget  it.  Now,  you  would  like  to  win  an 
unassailable  position  in  your  community,  would  you  not  ? ' ' 

"Yep." 

Gregory  abandoned  tact.  "Then  begin  at  once  to  pre 
pare  yourself.  You  must  have  a  teacher  and  study — 
English,  above  all  things." 

"My  Goo-r-rd!"  She  flushed  almost  purple.  For  the 
moment  she  hated  him.  "I've  always  suspicioned  you 
thought  I  wasn't  good  enough  for  you,  with  your  grad- 
uatin '  from  the  High  School  almost  while  you  was  in  short 
pants,  and  them  two  years  and  over  at  that  highbrow 
School  of  Mines;  and  now  you're  tellin'  me  you'll  be 
ashamed  of  me  the  minute  you  're  on  top ! ' ' 

Gregory  made  another  attempt  at  diplomacy.  What 
his  wife  achieved  socially  was  a  matter  of  profound  in 
difference  to  him,  but  she  must  reform  her  speech  if  his 
home  life  was  to  be  endurable. 

"I  am  forcing  my  imagination  to  keep  pace  with  your 
future  triumphs,"  he  said  with  the  charming  smile  that 
disarmed  even  Ida  when  irate.  "If  you  are  going  to  be 
a  prominent  figure  in  society— 

"My  land,  you  oughter  heard  the  grammar  and  slang 
of  some  of  the  newest  West  Siders  when  they  were  makin' 
up  their  minds  at  Madame  O'Reilley's,  or  havin'  their 
measures  took.  They  don't  frighten  me  one  little  bit." 

"There  is  a  point.  To  lead  them  you  must  be  their 
superior — and  the  equal  of  those  that  have  made  the  most 
of  their  advantages." 

"That's  not  such  a  bad  idea." 

"Think  it  over."  He  rose,  for  he  was  tired  of  the  con 
versation.  "These  western  civilisations  are  said  to  be 
crude,  but  I  fancy  they  are  the  world  in  little.  Subtlety, 
a  brain  developed  beyond  the  common,  should  go  far — 

' '  Greg,  you  are  dead  right ! ' '  She  had  suddenly  remem 
bered  that  she  must  play  up  to  this  man  who  held  her 
ambitions  in  his  hand,  and  she  had  the  wit  to  acknowledge 
his  prospicience,  little  as  were  the  higher  walks  of  learning 
to  her  taste.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  supple  undu 
lating  movement  and  flung  herself  into  his  arms. 

"I'll  begin  the  minute  you  find  me  a  teacher,"  she  ex 
claimed.  Then  she  kissed  him.  "I'm  goin'  to  keep  right 
along  with  you  and  make  you  proud  of  me,"  she  mur 
mured.  "  I  'm  crazy  about  you  and  always  will  be.  Swear 


26      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

right  here  you'll  never  throw  me  over,  or  run  round  with 
a  P'rox." 

Gregory  laughed,  but  held  her  off  for  a  moment  and 
stared  into  her  eyes.  After  all,  might  not  study  and  travel 
and  experience  give  depth  to  those  classic  eyes  which  now 
seemed  a  mere  joke  of  Nature?  Was  she  merely  the 
natural  victim  of  her  humble  conditions?  Her  father  had 
been  a  miner  of  a  very  superior  sort,  conservative  and  con 
temptuous  of  agitators,  but  a  powerful  voice  in  his  union 
and  respected  alike  by  men  and  managers.  Mrs.  Hook  had 
been  a  shrewd,  hard-working,  tight-fisted  little  woman 
from  Concord,  who  had  never  owed  a  penny,  nor  turned 
out  a  careless  piece  of  work.  Both  parents  with  education 
or  better  luck  might  have  taken  a  high  position  in  any 
western  community.  He  knew  also  the  preternatural 
quickness  and  adaptability  of  the  American  woman.  But 
could  a  common  mind  achieve  distinction? 

Ida,  wondering  ' '  what  the  devil  he  was  thinking  about, ' ' 
nestled  closer  and  gave  him  a  long  kiss,  her  woman's  wis 
dom,  properly  attributed  to  the  serpent,  keeping  her  other 
wise  mute.  Gregory  snatched  her  suddenly  to  him  and 
returned  her  kiss.  The  new  hope  revived  a  passion  by  no 
means  dead  for  this  beautiful  young  creature,  and  for  the 
hour  he  was  as  happy  as  during  his  rosy  honeymoon. 


" HEN  the  cottage  was  quite  in  order  Mrs.  Compton 
invited  two  of  her  old  friends  to  lunch.  As  the 
School  of  Mines  was  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  city,  Greg 
ory  took  his  midday  meal  with  him. 

Miss  Euby  Miller  and  her  twin-sister  Pearl  were  fine 
examples  of  the  self-supporting  young  womanhood  of  the 
West.  Neither  had  struggled  in  the  extreme  economic 
sense,  although  when  launched  they  had  taken  a  man's 
chances  and  asked  no  quarter.  Born  in  a  small  town  in 
Illinois,  their  father,  a  provident  grocer,  had  permitted 
each  of  his  daughters  to  attend  school  until  her  fifteenth 
year,  then  sent  her  to  Chicago  to  learn  a  trade.  Ruby  had 
studied  the  mysteries  of  the  hair,  complexion,  and  hands; 
Pearl  the  science  that  must  supplement  the  knack  for 
trimming  hats.  Both  worked  faithfully  as  apprentice  and 
clerk,  saving  the  greater  part  of  their  earnings :  they  pur 
posed  to  set  up  for  themselves  in  some  town  of  the  North 
west  where  money  was  easier,  opportunities  abundant  and 
expertness  rare.  What  they  heard  of  Montana  appealed 
to  their  enterprising  minds,  and,  beginning  with  cautious 
modesty,  some  four  years  before  Ida's  marriage,  Ruby 
was  now  the  leading  hair-dresser  and  manicure  of  Butte, 
her  pleasant  address  and  natural  diplomacy  assisting  her 
competent  hands  to  monopolise  the  West  Side  custom; 
Pearl,  although  less  candid  and  engaging,  more  frank  in 
reminding  her  customers  of  their  natural  deficiencies,  was 
equally  capable;  if  not  the  leading  milliner  in  that  town 
of  many  milliners,  where  even  the  miners'  wives  bought 
three  hats  a  season,  she  was  rapidly  making  a  reputation 
among  the  feathered  tribe.  She  now  ranked  as  one  of 
the  most  successful  of  the  young  business  women  in  a 
region  where  success  is  ever  the  prize  of  the  efficient.  Both 
she  and  her  sister  were  as  little  concerned  for  their  future 
as  the  metal  hill  of  Butte  itself. 

"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that?"  they  cried 

27 


28       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

simultaneously,  as  Ida  ushered  them  into  the  parlour. 
"Say,  it's  grand!"  continued  Miss  Euby  with  fervour. 
* c  Downright  artistic.  Ide,  you  're  a  wonder ! ' ' 

Miss  Pearl,  attuned  to  a  subtler  manipulation  of  colour, 
felt  too  happy  in  this  intimate  reunion  and  the  prospect 
of  "home-cooking,"  to  permit  even  her  spirit  to  grin. 
"Me  for  red,  kiddo,"  she  said.  "It's  the  colour  a  hard 
workin'  man  or  woman  wants  at  the  end  of  the  day — 
warm,  and  comfortin',  and  sensuous-like,  and  contrastin' 
fine  with  dirty  streets  and  them  hills.  Glory  be,  but  this 
chair's  comfortable!  I  suppose  it's  Greg's." 

"Of  course.  Luckily  a  woman  don't  have  the  least 
trouble  findin'  out  a  man's  weak  points,  and  Greg  has  a 
few,  thank  the  goodness  godness.  But  come  on  to  the 
dining-room.  I've  got  fried  chicken  and  creamed  potatoes 
and  raised  biscuit." 

The  guests  shrieked  with  an  abandon  that  proclaimed 
them  the  helpless  victims  of  the  Butte  restaurant  or  the 
kitchenette.  The  fried  chicken  in  its  rich  gravy,  and  the 
other  delicacies,  including  fruit  salad,  disappeared  so  rap 
idly  that  there  was  little  chance  for  the  play  of  intellect 
until  the  two  girls  fled  laughing  to  the  parlour. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  Pearl,"  cried  Miss  Euby,  dis 
posing  her  plump  figure  in  Gregory's  arm-chair,  and  tak 
ing  the  pins  from  a  mass  of  red  hair  that  had  brought  her 
many  a  customer;  "for  she's  the  kind  that'll  never  have 
to  diet  if  she  gets  rich  quick.  I  ought  to  be  shas- 
saying  round  with  my  hands  on  my  hips  right  now,  but  I 
won't." 

Miss  Pearl  extended  herself  on  the  divan,  and  Ida  rocked 
herself  with  a  complacent  smile.  One  of  her  vanities,  was 
slaked,  and  she  experienced  a  sense  of  immense  relief  in 
the  society  of  these  two  old  friends  of  her  own  sort. 

"Say!"  exclaimed  Miss  Miller,  "if  we  was  real  swell, 
now,  we'd  be  smokin'  cigarettes." 

"What!"  cried  Ida,  scandalised.  "No  lady'd  do  such 
a  thing.  Say,  I  forgot  the  gum." 

She  opened  a  drawer  and  flirted  an  oblong  section  of 
chewing-gum  at  each  of  her  guests,  voluptuously  inserting 
a  morsel  in  the  back  of  her  own  mouth,  tf '  Where  on  earth 
have  you  seen  ladies  smokin'  cigarettes?" 

"You  forget  I'm  in  and  out  of  some  of  our  best  fam 
ilies.  In  other  words  them  that's  too  swell — or  too  lazy — 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       29 

to  come  to  me,  has  me  up  to  them.  And  they're  just  as 
nice — most  of  'em — as  they  can  be;  no  more  airs  than 
their  men,  and  often  ask  me  to  stay  to  lunch.  I  ain't 
mentionin'  no  names,  as  I  was  asked  not  to,  for  you  know 
what  an  old-fashioned  bunch  there  is  in  every  Western 
town — well,  they  out  with  their  gold  tips  after  lunch,  and 
maybe  you  think  they  don't  know  how.  I  have  my  doubts 
as  to  their  enjoyin'  it,  for  tobacco  is  nasty  tastin'  stuff, 
and  I  notice  they  blow  the  smoke  out  quicker 'n  they  take 
it  in.  No  inhalin' for  them.  But  they  like  doin'  it;  that's 
the  point.  And  I  guess  they  do  it  a  lot  at  the  Country 
Club  and  at  some  of  the  dinners  where  the  Old  Guard 
ain't  asked.  They  smoke,  and  think  it's  vulgar  to  chew 
gum!  We  know  it's  the  other  way  round." 

"Well,  I  guess!"  exclaimed  the  young  matron,  who  had 
listened  to  this  chronicle  of  high  life  with  her  mouth  open. 
"What  their  husbands  thinkin'  about  to  permit  such  a 
thing!  I  can  see  Greg's  face  if  I  lit  up." 

"Oh,  their  husbands  don't  care,"  said  Pearl,  the  cynic. 
"Not  in  that  bunch.  They're  trained,  and  they  don't 
care,  anyhow.  Make  the  most  of  Greg  now,  kiddo.  When 
he  strikes  it  rich,  he'll  be  just  like  the  rest  of  'em,  annexin' 
right  and  left.  Matter  of  principle." 

"Principle  nothing!"  exclaimed  Ruby,  who,  highly 
sophisticated  as  any  young  woman  earning  her  living  in 
a  mining  town  must  be,  was  always  amiable  in  her  cyni 
cism.  "It's  too  much  good  food  and  champagne,  to  say 
no  thin'  of  cocktails  and  highballs  and  swell  club  life  after 
the  lean  and  hungry  years.  They're  just  like  kids  turned 
loose  in  a  candy  store,  helpin'  themselves  right  and  left 


they  lay  for  me — they  look  so  innocent  and  hungry-like; 
but  others  I  could  crack  over  the  ear,  and  I  don't  say  I 
haven't.  Lord,  how  a  girl  alone  does  get  to  know  men!  I 
wouldn't  marry  one  of  them  if  he'd  give  me  the  next  level 
of  the  Anaconda  mine.  Me  for  the  lonesome!" 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I'm  married,"  said  Ida  complacently. 
"The  kind  of  life  I  want  you  can  only  get  through  a  hus 
band.  Greg's  goin'  to  make  money,  all  right." 

"Greg  won't  be  as  bad  as  some,"  said  the  wise  Miss 
Ruby.  "He's  got  big  ideas,  and  as  he  don't  say  much 


30      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

about  'em,  he's  likely  thinkin'  about  nothin'  else.  At 
least  that's  the  way  I  figure  him  out.  The  Lord  knows 
I've  seen  enough  of  men.  But  you  watch  out  just  the 
same.  Them  long  thin  ones  that  looks  like  they  was  all 
brains  and  jaw  is  often  the  worst.  They've  got  more 
nerves.  The  minute  the  grind  lets  up  they  begin  to  look 
out  for  an  adventure,  wonderin'  what's  round  the  next 
corner.  Wives  ain't  much  at  supplyin'  adventure " 

"Well,  let's  quit  worryin'  about  what  ain't  happened," 
said  Miss  Pearl  abruptly.  Men  did  not  interest  her. 
"Will  he  take  you  to  any  of  the  dances?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know.  You've  been  put  up  and  elected  to  our 
new  and  exclusive  Club.  No  more  Coliseum  Saturday 
Nights  for  us — Race  Track  is  a  good  name  for  it.  We've 
taken  a  new  little  hall  over  Murphy's  store  for  Saturday 
nights  till  the  Gardens  open  up,  and  we  have  real  fun. 
No  rowdyism.  We  leave  that  to  the  cut  below.  This  Club 
is  composed  of  real  nice  girls  and  young  men  of  Butte  who 
are  workin'  hard  at  something  high-toned  and  respectable, 
and  frown  hard  on  the  fast  lot." 

"Sounds  fine.  Perhaps  Greg '11  go,  though  he  studies 
half  the  night.  Do  you  meet  at  any  other  time?  Is  it 
one  of  them  mind  improvers,  too?" 

"Nixie.  We  work  all  week  and  want  fun  when  we  get 
a  few  hours  off.  I  improve  my  mind  readin'  myself  to 
sleep  every  night " 

"What  do  you  read?"  interrupted  Ida,  eagerly. 

"Oh,  the  mags,  of  course,  and  a  novel  now  and  then. 
But  you  don't  need  novels  any  more.  The  mags  are  won 
ders!  They  teach  you  all  the  life  you  don't  know — all 
the  way  from  lords  to  burglars.  Then  there's  the  movin' 
pictures.  Lord,  but  we  have  advantages  our  poor  mothers 
never  dreamed  of!" 

' '  Greg  wants  me  to  study  with  a  teacher. ' '  Ida  frowned 
reminiscently  and  fatidically.  "He  seems  to  think  I  didn't 
get  nothin'  at  school." 

"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that?"  gasped  Miss 
Miller.  Pearl  removed  her  gum  with  a  dry  laugh. 

"If  a  man  insinuated  I  wasn't  good  enough  for  him — " 
she  began;  Ruby,  whose  quick  mind  was  weather-wise,  in 
terrupted  her. 

"Greg's  right.  He's  got  education  himself  and's  proved 
he  don't  mean  to  be  a  rancher  all  his  life.  What's  more, 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       31 

I've  heard  men  say  that  Gregory  Compton  is  bound  one 
way  or  another  to  be  one  of  the  big  men  of  Montana.  He 's 
got  the  brains,  he's  got  the  jaw,  and  he  can  outwork  any 
miner  that  ever  struck,  and  no  bad  habits.  Ide,  you  go 
ahead  and  polish  up." 

"Why  should  I?  I  never  could  see  that  those  bonan- 
zerines  were  so  much  better 'n  us,  barring  clothes." 

* '  You  don 't  know  the  best  of  'em,  Ide.  Madame  O  'Reilley 
was  too  gaudy  to  catch  any  but  the  newest  bunch.  The 
old  pioneer  guard  is  fine,  and  their  girls  have  been  edu 
cated  all  over  this  country  and  the  next.  Lord !  Look  at 
Ora  Blake !  Where  'd  you  beat  her  ?  In  these  new  Western 
towns  it's  generally  the  sudden  rich  that  move  to  New 
York  to  die  of  lonesomeness,  and  nowhere  to  show  their 
clothes  but  Peacock  Alley  in  the  Waldorf-Astoria.  The 
real  people  keep  their  homes  here,  if  they  are  awful  rest 
less;  and  I  guess  the  Society  they  make,  with  their  im 
ported  gowns  and  all,  ain't  so  very  different  from  top  So 
ciety  anywheres.  Of  course,  human  nature  is  human 
nature,  and  some  of  the  younger  married  women  are  sporty 
and  take  too  much  when  a  bunch  goes  over  to  Boulder 
Springs  for  a  lark,  or  get  a  crush  on  some  other  woman's 
husband — for  want  mostly  of  something  to  do;  but  their 
grammar's  all  right.  I  hope  you'll  teach  them  a  lesson 
when  you're  on  top,  Ide.  Good  American  morals  for  me, 
like  good  American  stories.  I  always  skip  the  Europe 
stories  in  the  mags.  Don 't  seem  modern  and  human,  some 
how,  after  Butte." 

"Now  I  like  Europe  stories,"  said  Ida,  "just  because 
they  are  so  different.  The  people  in  'em  ain't  walkin' 
round  over  gold  and  copper  when  they're  dishwashin'  or 
makin'  love,  but  their  mines  have  been  turned  centuries 
ago  into  castles  and  pictures  and  grand  old  parks.  There 's 
a  kind  of  halo " 

"Halo  no  thin'!"  exclaimed  Miss  Pearl,  who  was  even 
more  aggressively  American  than  her  sister.  "It's  them 
ridiculous  titles.  And  kings  and  queens  and  all  that  an 
tique  lot.  I  despise  'em,  and  I'm  dead  set  against  im- 
portin'  foreign  notions  into  God's  own  country.  We're 
dyed-in-the-wool  Americans — out  West  here,  anyhow — in 
cluding  every  last  one  of  them  fools  that's  buyin'  new 
notions  with  their  new  money.  All  their  Paris  clothes 
and  hats,  and  smokin'  cigarettes,  and  loose  talk  can't 


32       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

make  'em  anything  else.  Apin'  Europe  and  its  antiquated 
morals  makes  me  sick  to  my  stomach.  Cut  it  out,  kid, 
before  you  go  any  further.  Stand  by  your  own  country 
and  it'll  stand  by  you." 

"Well,  I've  got  an  answer  to  that.  In  the  first  place 
I'd  like  to  know  where  you'll  find  more  girls  on  the  loose 
than  right  here  in  Butte — and  I  don't  mean  the  sporting 
women,  either.  Why,  I  meet  bunches  of  schoolgirls  every 
day  so  painted  up  they  look  as  if  they  was  fixin'  right 
now  to  be  bad;  and  as  for  these  Eastern  workin'  girls  who 
come  out  here  after  jobs,  pretendin'  it's  less  pressure  and 
bigger  pay  they're  after,  when  it's  really  to  turn  loose  and 
give  human  nature  a  chance  with  free  spenders — well,  the 
way  they  hold  down  their  jobs  and  racket  about  all  night 
beats  me.  None  of  them's  been  to  Europe,  I  notice,  and 
I'd  like  to  bet  that  the  schoolgirls  that  don't  make  mon 
keys  of  themselves  is  the  daughters  of  them  that  has." 

"Oh,  the  schoolgirls  is  just  plain  little  fools  and  no 
doubt  has  their  faces  held  under  the  spout  for  'em  when 
they  get  home.  But  as  for  the  Eastern  girls,  you  hit  it 
when  you  said  they  come  out  here  to  give  human  nature  a 
chance.  Some  girls  is  born  bad,  thousands  and  thousands 
of  them ;  and  reformers  might  just  as  well  try  to  grow 
strawberries  in  a  copper  smelter  as  to  make  a  girl  run 
straight  when  she  is  lyin'  awake  nights  thinkin'  up  new 
ways  of  bein'  crooked.  But  the  rotten  girls  in  this  town 
are  not  the  whole  show.  And  lots  of  women  that  would 
never  think  of  goin'  wrong— don't  naturally  care  for  that 
sort  of  thing  a  bit — just  get  their  minds  so  mixed  up  by 
too  much  sudden  money,  and  liberty,  and  too  much  high 
livin'  and  too  much  Europe  and  too  much  nothin'  to  do, 
that  they  just  don't  know  where  they're  at;  and  it  isn't 
long  either  before  they  get  to  thinkin'  they're  not  the 
dead  swell  thing  unless  they  do  what  the  nobility  of  Europe 

seems  to  be  doin'  all  the  time " 

"Shucks!"  interrupted  Ruby,  indignantly.  "It's  just 
them  stories  in  the  shady  mags,  and  the  way  our  women 
talk  for  the  sake  of  effect.  There's  bad  in  America  and 
good  m  poor  old  Europe.  I '11  bet  my  new  hat  on  it.  Only, 
over  there  the  good  is  out  of  sight  under  all  that  sportin' 
high  life  everybody  seems  to  write  about.  Over  here 
we've  got  a  layer  of  good  on  top  as  thick  as  cream,  and 
every  kind  of  germ  swimmin'  round  underneath.  Lord 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       33 

knows  there  are  plenty  of  just  females  in  this  town,  of  all 
towns,  but  the  U.  S.  is  all  right  because  it  has  such  high 
standards.  All  sorts  of  new-fangled  notions  come  and  go 
but  them  standards  never  budge.  No  other  country  has 
anything  like  'em.  Sooner  or  later  we'll  catch  up.  I'm 
great  on  settin'  the  right  example  and  I'm  dead  set  on 
uplift.  That's  one  reason  we're  so  strict  about  our  Club 
membership.  Not  one  of  them  girls  can  get  in,  no  matter 
how  good  her  job  or  how  swell  a  dresser  she  is.  And  they 
feel  it,  too,  you  bet.  The  line's  drawn  like  a  barbed-wire 
fence." 

"I  guess  you're  dead  right,"  admitted  Ida.  ''And  my 
morals  ain  't  in  any  danger,  believe  me.  I  've  got  other  fish 
to  fry.  I've  had  love's  young  dream  and  got  over  it.  I'm 
just  about  dead  sick  of  that  side  of  life.  I  'd  cut  it  out  and 
put  it  down  to  profit  and  loss,  but  you've  got  to  manage 
men  every  way  nature's  kindly  provided,  and  that's  all 
there  is  to  it." 

' '  My  land ! ' '  exclaimed  Ruby.  ' '  If  I  felt  that  way  about 
my  husband  I'd  leave  him  too  quick." 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't.  You  can  make  up  your  mind 
to  any  old  thing.  That's  life.  And  I  guess  life  never 
holds  out  both  hands  full  at  once.  Either,  one's  got  a 
knife  in  it  or  it 's  out  of  sight  altogether. ' ' 

Euby  snorted  with  disgust.  "Once  more  I  vow  I'll 
marry  none  of  them.  Me  for  self-respect." 

"Now  as  to  Europe,"  pursued  Ida.  "You're  just  noth- 
in'  till  you've  been,  both  as  to  what  you  get,  and  sayin' 
you've  been  there " 

"Ida,"  said  Ruby,  shaking  her  wise  red  head,  "don't 
you  go  leavin'  your  husband  summers,  like  the  rest.  Men 
don 't  get  much  chance  to  go  to  Europe.  They  prefer  little 
old  New  York,  anyhow — when  they  can  get  on  there  alone. 
I  wonder  what  ten  thousand  wives  that  go  to  Europe  every 
summer  think  their  husbands  are  doin'?  I  haven't  mani 
cured  men  for  nine  years  without  knowin'  they  need 
watchin '  every  minute.  Why,  my  lord !  they  're  so  tickled 
to  death  when  summer  comes  round  they  can  hardly  wait 
to  kiss  their  wives  good-by  and  try  to  look  lonesome  on  the 
platform.  They'd  like  to  lie  down  and  kick  up  their  heels 
right  there  at  the  station.  And  I  didn't  have  to  come  to 
Butte  to  find  that  out." 

"Greg '11  never  run  with  that  fast  lot." 


34       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"No,  but  he  might  meet  an  affinity;  and  there's  one  of 
them  lyin'  in  wait  for  every  man." 

Ida's  brow  darkened.  "Well,  just  let  her  look  out  for 
herself,  that's  all.  I'll  hang  on  to  Greg.  But  it  ain't  time 
to  worry  yet.  Let's  have  a  game  of  poker." 


VI 

GREGORY,  through  the  offices  of  his  friend,  Mark 
Blake,  found  a  teacher  for  Ida  before  the  end  of  the 
week,  Mr.  William  Cullen  Whalen,  Professor  of  English 
in  the  Butte  High  School. 

Mr.  Whalen 's  present  status  was  what  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  designating  as  an  ignominious  anti-climax,  con 
sidering  his  antecedents  and  attainments;  but  he  always 
dismissed  the  subject  with  a  vague,  "  Health — health — this 
altitude — this  wonderful  air — climate — not  for  me  are  the 
terrible  extremes  of  our  Atlantic  seaboard.  Here  a  man 
may  be  permitted  to  live,  if  not  in  the  deeper  sense — well, 
at  least,  there  are  always  one 's  thoughts — and  books. ' ' 

He  was  a  delicate  little  man  as  a  matter  of  fact,  but  had 
East  winds  and  summer  humidities  been  negligible  he 
would  have  jumped  at  the  position  found  for  him  by  a 
college  friend  who  had  gone  West  and  prospered  in  Mon 
tana.  This  friend's  letter  had  much  to  say  about  the  dry 
tonic  air  of  winter,  the  cool  light  air  of  summer,  the  many 
hours  he  would  be  able  to  pass  in  the  open,  thus  deepen 
ing  the  colour  of  his  corpuscles,  at  present  a  depressing 
shade  of  pink ;  but  even  more  about  a  salary  far  in  excess 
of  anything  lying  round  loose  in  the  East.  Mr.  Whalen, 
who,  since  his  graduation  from  the  college  in  his  native 
town,  had  knocked  upon  several  historic  portals  of  learn 
ing  in  vain,  finding  himself  invariably  outclassed,  had 
shuddered,  but  accepted  his  fate  by  the  outgoing  mail.  Of 
course  he  despised  the  West;  and  the  mere  thought  of  a 
mining  camp  like  Butte,  which  was  probably  in  a  drunken 
uproar  all  the  time,  almost  nauseated  him.  However,  in 
such  an  outpost  the  graduate  of  an  Eastern  college  who 
knew  how  to  wear  his  clothes  must  rank  high  above  his 
colleagues.  It  might  be  years  before  he  could  play  a  simi 
lar  role  at  home.  So  he  packed  his  wardrobe,  which  in 
cluded  spats  and  a  silk  hat,  and  went. 

Nature  compensates  even  her  comparative  failures  by 

35 


36      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

endowing  them  with  a  deathless  self-conceit.  Whalen  was 
a  man  of  small  abilities,  itching  ambition,  all  the  education 
his  brains  could  stand,  and  almost  happy  in  being  himself 
and  a  Whalen.  It  was  true  that  Fortune  had  grafted  him 
on  a  well-nigh  sapless  branch  in  a  small  provincial  town, 
while  the  family  trunk  flourished,  green,  pruned,  and 
portly,  in  Boston,  but  no  such  trifle  could  alter  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  Whalen,  and  destined  by  a  discriminating 
heredity  to  add  to  the  small  but  precious  bulk  of  America's 
literature.  Although  he  found  Butte  a  city  of  some  sixty 
thousand  inhabitants,  and  far  better  behaved  than  he  had 
believed  could  be  possible  in  a  community  employing  some 
fifteen  thousand  miners,  he  was  still  able  to  reassure  him 
self  that  she  outraged  every  sensibility.  He  assured  him 
self  further  that  its  lurid  contrasts  to  the  higher  civilisation 
would  play  like  a  search-light  upon  the  theme  for  a  novel 
he  long  had  had  in  mind :  the  subtle  actions  and  reactions 
o±  the  Boston  temperament. 

But  that  was  three  years  ago,  and  meanwhile  several 
things  had  happened  to  him.    He  had  ceased  to  wear  his 
spats  and  silk  hat  in  public  after  their  first  appearance 
on  Broadway;  the  newsboys,  who  were  on  strike,  had  seen 
to  that      He  wrote  his  novel,  and  the  Atlantic  Monthly, 
honored  by  the  first  place  on  his  list,  declined  to  give  space 
to  his  innocent  plagiarisms  of  certain  anemic  if  literary 
authors   now  passing  into   history.     An  agent   sent  the 
manuscript   the    rounds   without   avail,    but   one    of   the 
younger  editors  had  suggested  that  he  try  his  hand  at 
Montana.     He  was  more  shocked   and  mortified  at  this 
proposition  than  at  the  failure  of  his  novel.     Time   how 
ever,  as  well  as  the  high  cost  of  living  in  Butte,  lent  him 
a  grudging  philosophy,  and  he  digested  the  advice     But 
his  were  not  the  eyes  that  see.     The  printed  page  was  his 
world,  his  immediate  environment  but  a  caricature  of  the 
subtle  realities.    Nevertheless,  he  had  what  so  often  appears 
in  the  most  unlikely  brains,  the  story-telling  kink.     Given 
an  incident  he  could  work  it  up  with  an  abundance  of  detail 
and^    psychology,"   easily  blue-pencilled,   and   a   certain 
illusion.    Condescend  to  translate  his  present  surroundings 
into  the  sacred  realm  of  American  fiction  he  would  not 
but  he  picked  the  brains  of  old-timers  for  thrilling  inci 
dents  of  the  days  when  gold  was  found  at  the  roots  of 
grass,  and  the  pioneers  either  were  terrorized  by  the  lawless 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       37 

element  or  executed  upon  it  a  summary  and  awful  justice. 
Some  of  his  tales  were  so  blood-curdling,  so  steeped  in 
gore  and  horror,  that  he  felt  almost  alive  when  writing 
them.  It  was  true  that  their  market  was  the  Sunday 
Supplement  and  the  more  sensational  magazines,  whose 
paper  and  type  made  his  soul  turn  green ;  but  the  pay  was 
excellent,  and  they  had  begun  to  attract  some  attention, 
owing  to  the  contrast  between  the  fierceness  of  theme  and 
the  neat  precise  English  in  which  it  was  served.  Butte 
valued  him  as  a  counter-irritant  to  Mary  McLane,  and  he 
became  a  professional  diner-out. 

1 1  Do  you  think  he  '11  condescend  to  tutor  ? ' '  Gregory  had 
asked  of  Blake.  Whalen  was  by  no  means  unknown  to 
him,  but  heretofore  had  been  regarded  as  a  mere  worm. 

"Sure  thing.  Nobody  keener  on  the  dollar  than  Wha 
len.  He'll  stick  you,  but  he  knows  his  business.  He's  got 
all  the  words  there  are,  puts  'em  in  the  right  place,  and 
tones  'em  up  so  you'd  hardly  know  them." 


VII 

IDA  was  out  when  her  prospective  tutor  called,  and  she 
•*•  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  card  she  found  under  the 
door:  "Mr.  William  Cullen  Whalen,"  it  was  inscribed. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  gentlemen  of  her  acquaintance 
to  express  their  sense  of  good  fellowship  even  upon  the 
formal  pasteboard.  "Mr.  Matt  Dance,"  "Mr.  Phil  Mott," 
"Mr.  Bill  Jarvis,"  the  legends  read.  Ida  felt  as  if  she 
were  reciting  a  line  from  the  Eastern  creed  as  her  lips 
formed  again  and  again  the  suave  and  labial  syllables  on 
her  visitor's  card.  She  promptly  determined  to  order 
cards  for  her  husband  on  the  morrow — he  was  so  remiss 
as  to  have  none — and  they  should  be  engraved,  in  small 
Eoman  letters:  "Mr.  Gregory  Verrooy  Compton." 

"And  believe  me/'  she  announced  to  her  green  dining- 
room,  as  she  sat  down  before  her  husband's  desk,  "that  is 
some  name." 

Her  note  to  Professor  Whalen,  asking  him  to  call  on  the 
following  afternoon  at  two  o  'clock,  was  commendably  brief, 
so  impatient  was  she  to  arrive  at  the  signature,  "Mrs. 
Gregory  Verrooy  Compton;"  little  conceiving  the  effect 
it  would  have  upon  Mr.  Whalen 's  fastidious  spine. 

He  called  at  the  hour  named,  and  Ida  invited  him  into 
the  dining-room.  It  was  here  that  Gregory  read  far  into 
the  night,  and  she  vaguely  associated  a  large  table  with 
much  erudition.  Moreover,  she  prided  herself  upon  her 
economy  in  fuel. 

Mr.  Whalen  sat  in  one  of  the  hard  upright  chairs,  his 
stick  across  his  knee,  his  gloves  laid  smartly  in  the  rolling 
brim  of  his  hat,  studying  this  new  specimen  and  wondering 
if  she  could  be  made  to  do  him  credit.  He  was  surprised 
to  find  her  so  beautiful,  and  not  unrefined  in  style — if  only 
she  possessed  the  acumen  to  keep  her  ripe  mouth  shut.  In 
fact  he  found  her  quite  the  prettiest  woman  he  had  seen 
in  Butte,  famous  for  pretty  women ;  and — and — he  searched 

38 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       39 

conscientiously  for  the  right  word,  and  blushed  as  he 
found  it— the  most  seductive.  Ida  was  vain  of  the  fact 
that  she  wore  no  corset,  and  that  not  the  least  of  her 
attractions  was  a  waist  as  flexible  as  an  acrobat's.  What 
flesh  she  had  was  very  firm,  her  carriage  was  easy  and 
graceful,  the  muscles  of  her  back  were  strong,  her  lines 
long  and  flowing ;  she  walked  and  moved  at  all  times  with 
an  undulating  movement  usually  associated  with  a  warmer 
temperament.  But  nature  often  amuses  herself  bestowing 
the  semblance  and  withholding  the  essence ;  Ida,  calculat 
ing  and  contemptuous  of  the  facile  passions  of  men, 
amused  herself  with  them,  confident  of  her  own  immunity. 

It  was  now  some  time  since  she  had  enjoyed  the  admira 
tion  of  any  man  but  her  husband,  and  his  grew  more  and 
more  sporadic,  was  long  since  dry  of  novelty.  Like  most 
Western  husbands,  he  would  not  have  permitted  her  to 
make  a  friend  of  any  other  man,  nor  even  to  receive  the 
casual  admirer  when  he  was  not  at  home.  Ida  was  full  of 
vanity,  although  she  would  have  expressed  her  sudden  de 
termination  to  captivate  "little  Whalen"  merely  as  a 
desire  to  keep  her  hand  in.  He  was  the  only  man  upon 
whom  she  was  likely  to  practise  at  present  (for  Gregory 
would  have  none  of  the  Club  dances),  and  vanity  can 
thirst  like  a  galled  palate.  She  had  "sized  him  up "  as  a 
"squirt"  (poor  Ida!  little  she  recked  how  soon  she  was 
to  be  stripped  of  her  picturesque  vocabulary),  but  he  was 
"a  long  sight  better  than  nothing." 

After  they  had  exhausted  the  nipping  weather,  and  the 
possibility  of  a  Chinook  arriving  before  night — there  was 
a  humming  roar  high  overheard  at  the  moment — she  low 
ered  her  black  eyelashes,  lifted  herself  against  the  stiff 
back  of  her  chair  with  the  motion  of  a  snake  uncoiling, 
raised  her  thick  white  lids  suddenly,  and  murmured: 

"Well,  so  you're  goin'  to  polish  me  off?  Tell  me  all  my 
faults!  Fire  away.  I  know  you'll  make  a  grand  success 
of  it.  Lord  knows  (her  voice  became  as  sweet  as  honey), 
you're  different  enough  from  the  other  men  in  this  jay 
town." 

Mr.  Whalen  felt  as  if  he  were  being  drenched  with 
honey  dew,  for  he  was  the  type  of  man  whom  women  take 
no  trouble  to  educate.  But  as  that  sweet  unmodulated 
voice  stole  about  his  ear  porches  he  drew  himself  up  stiffly, 
conscious  of  a  thrill  of  fear.  To  become  enamoured  of  the 


40       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

wife  of  one  of  these  forthright  Westerners,  who  took  the 
law  into  their  own  hands,  was  no  part  of  his  gentle  pro 
gramme  ;  but  he  stared  at  her  fascinated,  never  having  felt 
anything  resembling  a  thrill  before.  Moreover,  like  all  peo 
ple  of  weak  passions,  more  particularly  that  type  of  Amer 
ican  that  hasn't  any,  he  took  pride  in  his  powers  of  self- 
control.  In  a  moment  he  threw  off  the  baleful  influence 
and  replied  drily. 

"I  think  the  lessons  would  better  be  oral  for  a  time. 
Do — do  I  understand  that  I  am  to  correct  your  individual 
method  of  expression?" 

11  That's  it,  I  guess." 

"And  you  won't  be  offended?"  Mr.  Whalen's  upper 
teeth  were  hemispheric,  but  he  had  cultivated  a  paternal 
and  not  unpleasing  smile.  Even  the  pale  blue  orbs,  fixed 
defiantly  upon  the  siren,  warmed  a  trifle. 

"Well,  I  don't  s'pose  I'll  like  bein'  corrected  better 'n 
the  next,  but  that's  what  I'm  payin'  for.  Now  that  my 
husband's  studyin'  for  a  profession,  I  guess  I'll  be  in  the 
top  set  before  so  very  long.  There's  Mrs.  Blake,  for  in 
stance — her  husband  told  Mr.  Compton  she'd  call  this 
week.  Is  she  all  that  she's  cracked  up  to  be?" 

"Mrs.  Blake  has  had  great  advantages.  She  might  al 
most  be  one  of  our  own  products,  were  it  not  for  the  fact 
that  she — well — seems  deliberately  to  wish  to  be  Western." 
He  found  himself  growing  more  and  more  confused  under 
the  steady  regard  of  those  limpid  shadowy  eyes — set  like 
the  eyes  of  a  goddess  in  marble,  and  so  disconcertingly 
shallow.  He  pulled  himself  up  sharply.  "Now,  if  I  may 
begin — you  must  not  sign  your  notes,  'Mrs.  Gregory  Ver- 
rooy  Compton '- 

Ida's  eyes  flashed  wide  open.  "Why  not,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  Isn  't  it  as  good  a  name  as  yours  ? ' ' 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  Ah — yes — you  don't 
quite  understand.  It  is  not  the  custom — in  what  we  call 
society — to  sign  in  that  manner — it  is  a  regrettable  Ameri 
can  provincialism.  If  you  really  wish  to  learn 

"Fire  away,"  said  Ida  sullenly. 

"Sign  your  own  name — may  I  ask  what  it  is?" 

"My  name  was  Ida  Maria  Hook  before  I  married." 

"Ida  is  a  beautiful  and  classic  name.  We  will  eliminate 
the  rest.  Sign  yourself  Ida  Compton — or  if  you  wish  to 
be  more  swagger,  Ida  Verrooy  Compton " 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       41 

"Land's  sake!  We'd  be  laughed  clean  out  of  Mon 
tana." 

"Yes,  there  is  a  fine  primitive  simplicity  about  many 
things  in  this  region,"  replied  Mr.  Whalen,  thinking  of 
his  spats  and  silk  hat.    "But  you  get  my  point?" 
"I  get  you." 

"Oh! — We'll  have  a  little  talk  later  about  slang.  And 
you  mustn't  begin  your  letters,  particularly  to  an  ac 
quaintance,  'Dear  friend/  This  is  an  idealistic  and — ah — 
bucolic  custom,  but  hardly  good  form." 

He  was  deeply  annoyed  at  his  lack  of  fluency,  but  Ida 
once  more  was  deliberately  "upsetting"  him.  She  smiled 
indulgently. 

"I  guess  I  like  your  new-fangled  notions.  I'll  write  all 
that  down  while  you're  thinkin'  up  what  to  say  next." 

She  leaned  over  the  table  and  wrote  slowly  that  he  might 
have  leisure  to  admire  her  figure  in  profile.  But  he  gazed 
sternly  out  of  the  window  until  she  swayed  back  to  the 
perpendicular  and  demanded, 

"What  next?  Do  you  want  me  to  say  bath  and  can't?" 
"Oh,  no,  I  really  shouldn't  advise  it,  not  in  Butte.  I 
don't  wish  to  teach  you  anything  that  will  add  to  the  dis 
comforts  of  life — so  long  as  your  lines  are  cast  here.  Just 
modify  the  lamentably  short  American  a  a  bit."  And  he 
rehearsed  her  for  a  few  moments. 

'  *  Fine.  I  '11  try  it  on  Greg — Mr.  Compton.  If  he  laughs 
I'll  know  I'm  too  good,  but  if  he  only  puckers  his  eyebrows 
and  looks  as  if  somethin'  queer  was  floatin'  round  just  out 
of  sight,  then  I'll  know  I've  struck  the  happy  medium. 
I'll  be  a  real  high-brow  in  less  than  no  time." 

"You  certainly  are  surprisingly  quick,"  said  Professor 
Whalen  handsomely.  "In  a  year  I  could  equip  you  for 
our  centres  of  culture,  but  as  I  remarked  just  now  it 
would  not  be  kind  to  transform  you  into  an  exotic.  Now, 
suppose  we  read  a  few  pages  of  this  grammar — 

' '  I  studied  grammar  at  school, ' '  interrupted  Ida  haught 
ily.  "What  do  you  take  Butte  for,  anyhow.  It  may  be  a 
mining-camp,  and  jay  enough  compared  with  your  old 
Boston,  but  I  guess  we  learn  something  mor'n  the  alphabet 
at  all  these  big  red  brick  schoolhouses  we've  got — Mon 
tana's  famous  for  its  grand  schoolhouses — 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Compton.  But,  you  know, 
one  forgets  so  quickly.  And  then  so  many  of  you  don't 


42       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

stay  in  school  long  enough.    How  old  were  you  when  you 
left?" 


'Fifteen.     Ma  wouldn't  let  me  go  to  the  High." 

"Precisely.  Well,  I  will  adhere  to  my  original  pur 
pose,  and  defer  books  until  our  next  lesson.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  me  to  tell  you  something  more  of  our  Eastern 
methods  of  speech — not  only  words,  but — er — syntax " 

"Oh,  hang  your  old  East !  You  make  me  feel  downright 
patriotic." 

Professor  Whalen  was  conscious  that  it  was  a  distinct 
pleasure  to  make  those  fine  eyes  flash.  "One  would  think 
we^were  not  all  Americans,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"Well,  I  guess  you  look  upon  America  as  East  and  West 
too.  Loads  of  young  surveyors  and  mining  men  come  out 
here  to  make  their  pile,  and  at  first  Montana  ain't  good 
enough  to  black  their  boots,  but  it  soon  takes  the  starch  out 
of  'em.  No  use  puttin'  on  dog  here.  It  don't  work." 

"Oh,  I  assure  you  it's  merely  a  difference  of  manner— 
of — er  tradition.  We — and  I  in  particular — find  your 
West  most  interesting — and  significant.  I — ah — regard  it 
as  the  great  furnace  under  our  civilization." 

"And  we  are  the  stokers!     I  like  your  impudence!" 

He  had  no  desire  to  lose  this  remunerative  pupil,  whose 
crude  mind  worked  more  quickly  than  his  own.  She  was 
now  really  angry  and  he  made  a  mild  dive  in  search  of 
his  admitted  tact. 

"My  dear  lady,  you  put  words  into  my  mouth  that 
emanate  from  your  own  clever  brain,  not  from  my  merely 
pedantic  one.  Not  only  have  I  the  highest  respect  for  the 
West,  and  for  Montana  in  particular,  but  please  remem 
ber  that  the  contempt  of  the  East  for  the  West  is  merely 
passive,  negative,  when  compared  with  the  lurid  scorn 
of  the  West  for  the  East.  'Effete'  is  its  mildest  term  of 
opprobrium.  I  doubt  if  your  'virile'  Westerner  believes  us 
to  be  really  alive,  in  a  condition  to  inhabit  aught  but  a 
museum.  Your  men  when  they  'make  their  pile',  or  take 
a  vacation,  never  dream  of  going  to  Boston,  seldom,  indeed, 
to  Europe.  They  take  the  fastest  train  for  New  York— 
and  by  no  means  with  a  view  to  exploring  that  wilderness 
for  its  oases  of  culture ' 

"Well,  I  guess  not!"  cried  Ida,  her  easy  good  nature 
restored.  "All-night  restaurants,  something  new  in  the 
way  of  girls— 'chickens'  and  '  squabs '—musical  shows, 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       43 

watchin'  the  sun  rise— that's  their  little  old  New  York. 
They  always  come  home  shakin'  themselves  like  a  New 
foundland  puppy,  or  purrin'  like  a  cat  full  of  cream,  hut 
talkin'  about  the  Great  Free  "West,  God's  Own  Country, 
and  the  Big  Western  Heart.  I've  a  friend  who  does  mam- 
curin',  and  she  knows  'em  like  old  shoes." 

Whalen,  who  had  a  slight  cultivated  sense  of  humor, 
laughed.  "You  are  indeed  most  apt  and  picturesque,  dear 
Mrs.  Compton.  But— while  I  think  of  it— you  mustn't 
drop  your  final  gs.  That,  I  am  told,  is  one  of  the  fashion 
able  divagations  of  the  British  aristocracy.  But  with  us 
it  is  the  hallmark  of  the  uneducated.  Now,  I  really  have 
told  you  all  you  can  remember  for  one  day,  and  will  take 
my  leave.  It  is  to  be  every  other  day,  I  understand. 
On  Wednesday,  then,  at  two?" 


VIII 

IDA  walked  to  the  gate  with  him.  She  was  quite  a  head 
•*•  taller  than  he,  but  subtly  made  him  feel  that  the  ad 
vantage  was  his,  as  it  enabled  her  to  pour  the  light  of  her 
eyes  downward.  He  picked  his  way  up  the  uneven  surface 
of  East  Granite  Street,  slippery  with  a  recent  fall  of  snow, 
not  only  disturbed,  but  filled  with  a  new  conceit ;  in  other 
words  thrilling  with  his  first  full  sense  of  manhood. 

Ida  looked  after  him,  smiling  broadly.  But  the  smile 
fled  abruptly,  her  lips  trembled,  then  contracted.  Advanc 
ing  down  the  street  was  Mrs.  Mark  Blake.  Ida  had  known 
her  enterprising  young  husband  before  he  changed  his 
name  from  Mike  to  Mark,  but  she  knew  his  lady  wife  by 
sight  only ;  Mrs.  Blake  had  not  patronized  Madame  0  'Reil- 
ley.  Ruby  and  Pearl  pronounced  her  ' '  all  right ' ',  although 
a  trifle  "proud  to  look  at."  Ida  assumed  that  she  was  to 
receive  the  promised  call,  and  wished  she  could  "get  out 
of  it."  Not  only  did  she  long  for  her  rocker,  gum  and 
magazine,  after  the  intellectual  strain  of  the  past  hour, 
but  she  had  no  desire  to  meet  Mrs.  Blake  or  any  of  "that 
crowd"  until  she  could  take  her  place  as  their  equal.  She 
had  her  full  share  of  what  is  known  as  class-consciousness, 
and  its  peculiar  form  of  snobbery.  To  be  patronized  by 
' l  swells ' ',  even  to  be  asked  to  their  parties,  would  give  her 
none  of  that  subtle  joy  peculiar  to  the  climbing  snob. 
When  the  inevitable  moment  came  she  would  burst  upon 
them,  dazzle  them,  bulldoze  and  lead  them,  but  she  wanted 
none  of  their  crumbs. 

But  she  was  "in  for  it."  She  hastily  felt  the  back  of 
her  shirtwaist  to  ascertain  if  it  still  were  properly  ad 
justed,  and  sauntered  towards  the  cottage  humming  a  tune, 
pretending  not  to  have  seen  the  lady  who  stopped  to  have 
a  word  with  Professor  Whalen.  "Anyhow,  she's  not  a 
bonanzerine, "  thought  Ida.  "I  guess  she  did  considerable 
scrapin'  at  one  time;  and  Mark,  for  all  he  could  make 
shoe-blackin '  look  like  molasses,  ain't  a  millionaire  yet." 

44 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       45 

She  might  indeed,  further  reflected  Ida,  watching  the 
smartly  tailored  figure  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  be 
pitied,  for  she  had  been  "brought  up  rich,  expecting  to 
marry  a  duke,  and  then  come  down  kaplunk  before  she'd 
much  more'n  a  chance  to  grow  up."  Her  father,  Judge 
Stratton,  a  graduate  of  Columbia  University,  had  been 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  unscrupulous  lawyers  of  the 
Northwest.  He  had  drawn  enormous  fees  from  railroads 
and  corporations,  and  in  the  historic  Clark-Daly  duels 
for  supremacy  in  the  State  of  Montana,  and  in  the  more 
picturesque  battle  between  F.  Augustus  Heinze  and 
"Amalgamated"  (that  lusty  offspring  of  the  great  Stand 
ard  Oil  Trust),  when  the  number  of  estimable  citizens 
bought  and  sold  demonstrated  the  faint  impress  of  time 
on  original  sin,  his  legal  acumen  and  persuasive  tongue, 
his  vitriolic  pen,  ever  had  been  at  the  disposal  of  the 
highest  bidder. 

He  had  been  a  distinguished  resident  of  Butte  but  a  few 
years  when  he  built  himself  a  spacious  if  hideous  resi 
dence  on  the  "West  Side.  But  this  must  have  been  out  of 
pure  loyalty  to  his  adopted  state,  for  it  was  seldom  occu 
pied,  although  furnished  in  the  worst  style  of  the  late 
seventies  and  early  eighties.  Mrs.  Stratton  and  her  daugh 
ter  spent  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  Europe.  As 
Judge  Stratton  disliked  his  wife,  was  intensely  ambitious 
for  his  only  child,  and  preferred  the  comforts  of  his 
smaller  home  on  The  Flat,  he  rarely  recalled  his  legitimate 
family,  and  made  them  a  lavish  allowance.  He  died 
abruptly  of  apoplexy,  and  left  nothing  but  a  life  insurance 
of  five  thousand  dollars ;  he  had  neglected  to  take  out  any 
until  his  blood  vessels  were  too  brittle  for  a  higher  risk. 

Mrs.  Stratton  promptly  became  an  invalid,  and  Ora 
brought  her  home  to  Butte,  hoping  to  save  something  from 
the  wreck.  There  was  nothing  to  save.  As  she  had  not 
known  of  the  life  insurance  when  they  received  the  curt 
cablegram  in  Paris,  she  had  sold  all  of  her  mother's  jewels 
save  a  string  of  pearls,  and,  when  what  was  left  of  this 
irrelative  sum  after  the  luxurious  journey  over  sea  and 
land,  was  added  to  the  policy,  the  capital  of  these  two 
still  bewildered  women  represented  little  more  than  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  spend  in  six  months.  When  Mark 

Blake,  who  had   studied  law  in  Judge   Stratton 's  office 

after  graduating  from  the  High  School,  and  now  seemed 


46      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  inherit  the  business,  besides  being 
County  Attorney  at  the  moment,  implored  Ora  to  marry 
him,  and  manifested  an  almost  equal  devotion  to  her 
mother,  whom  he  had  ranked  with  the  queens  of  history 
books  since  boyhood,  she  accepted  him  as  the  obvious  solu 
tion  of  her  problem. 

She  was  lonely,  disappointed,  mortified,  a  bit  frightened. 
She  had  lived  the  life  of  the  average  American  princess, 
and  although  accomplished  had  specialised  in  nothing; 
nor  given  a  thought  to  the  future.  As  she  had  cared  little 
for  the  society  for  which  her  mother  lived,  and  much  for 
books,  music,  and  other  arts,  and  had  talked  eagerly  with 
the  few  highly  specialised  men  she  was  fortunate  enough 
to  meet,  she  had  assumed  that  she  was  clever.  She  also 
believed  that  when  she  had  assuaged  somewhat  her  appe 
tite  for  the  intellectual  and  artistic  banquet  the  gifted  of 
the  ages  had  provided,  she  might  develop  a  character  and 
personality,  possibly  a  gift  of  her  own.  But  she  was  only 
twenty  when  her  indulgent  father  died,  and,  still  gorging 
herself,  was  barely  interested  in  her  capacities  other  than 
receptive,  less  still  in  the  young  men  that  sought  her,  un- 
terrified  by  her  reputation  for  brains.  She  fancied  that 
she  should  marry  when  she  was  about  twenty-eight,  and 
have  a  salon  somewhere ;  and  the  fact  that  love  had  played 
so  little  a  part  in  her  dreams  made  it  easier  to  contemplate 
marriage  with  this  old  friend  of  her  childhood.  His  mother 
had  been  Mrs.  Stratton's  seamstress,  to  be  sure,  but  as  he 
was  a  good  boy, — he  called  for  the  frail  little  woman  every 
evening  to  protect  her  from  roughs  on  her  long  walk  east 
to  the  cottage  her  husband  had  built  shortly  before  he 
was  blown  to  pieces  somewhere  inside  of  Butte — he  had 
been  permitted  to  hold  the  dainty  Ora  on  his  knee,  or  toss 
her,  gurgling  with  delight,  into  the  air  until  he  puffed. 

Mark  had  been  a  fat  boy,  and  was  now  a  fat  young  man 
with  a  round  rosy  face  and  a  rolling  lazy  gait.  He  pos 
sessed  an  eye  of  remarkable  shrewdness,  however,  was  mak 
ing  money  rapidly,  never  lost  sight  of  the  main  chance,  and 
was  not  in  the  least  surprised  when  his  marriage  lifted  him 
to  the  pinnacle  of  Butte  society.  In  spite  of  his  amiable 
weaknesses,  he  was  honest  if  sharp,  an  inalienable  friend, 
and  he  made  a  good  husband  according  to  his  lights.  Being 
a  man's  man,  and  naturally  elated  at  his  election  to  the 
exclusive  Silver  Bow  Club  soon  after  his  marriage  to  the 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       47 

snow  maiden  of  his  youthful  dreams,  he  formed  the  habit 
of  dropping  in  for  a  game  of  billiards  every  afternoon  on 
his  way  home,  and  returning  for  another  after  dinner. 
But  within  three  years  he  was  able  to  present  the  wife  of 
whom  he  was  inordinately  proud  with  a  comfortable  home 
on  the  West  Side,  and  he  made  her  an  allowance  of  ever 
increasing  proportions. 

Ora,  who  had  her  own  idea  of  a  bargain,  had  never  com 
plained  of  neglect  nor  intimated  that  she  found  anything 
in  him  that  savoured  of  imperfection.  She  had  accepted 
him  as  a  provider,  and  as  he  filled  this  part  of  the  con 
tract  brilliantly,  she  felt  that  to  treat  him  to  scenes  whose 
only  excuse  was  outraged  love  or  jealousy,  would  be  both 
unjust  and  absurd.  Moreover,  his  growing  passion  for  his 
club  was  an  immense  relief  after  his  somewhat  prolonged 
term  of  marital  uxoriousness,  and  as  her  mother  died  al 
most  coincidentally  with  the  abridgment  of  Mr.  Blake's 
home  life,  Ora  returned  to  her  studies,  rode  or  walked  for 
hours,  and,  after  her  double  period  of  mourning  was 
over,  danced  two  or  three  times  a  week  in  the  season,  or 
sat  out  dances  when  she  met  a  man  that  had  cultivated  his 
intellect.  For  women  she  cared  little. 

It  never  occurred  to  Mark  to  be  jealous  of  his  passion 
less  wife,  although  he  would  have  asserted  his  authority 
if  she  had  received  men  alone  in  the  afternoon.  But  Ora 
paid  a  scrupulous  deference  to  his  wishes  in  all  respects. 
She  even  taught  herself  to  keep  house,  and  her  servants 
manners  as  well  as  the  elements  of  edible  cooking.  This  she 
regarded  as  her  proudest  feat,  for  she  frankly  hated  the 
domestic  details  of  life;  although  after  three  years  in  a 
4 'Block", — a  sublimated  lodging  house,  peculiar  to  the 
Northwest — she  enjoyed  the  space  and  privacy  of  her 
home.  Mark  told  his  friends  that  his  wife  was  the  most 
remarkable  woman  in  Montana,  rarely  found  fault,  save  in 
the  purely  mechanical  fashion  of  the  married  male,  and 
paid  the  bills  without  a  murmur.  Altogether  it  was  a 
reasonably  happy  marriage. 

Ora  Blake's  attitude  to  life  at  this  time  was  expressed 
in  the  buoyancy  of  her  step,  the  haughty  carriage  of  her 
head,  the  cool  bright  casual  glance  she  bestowed  upon  the 
world  in  general.  Her  code  of  morals,  ethics,  manners,  as 
well  as  her  acceptance  of  the  last  set  of  conditions  she 
would  have  picked  from,  the  hands  of  Fate,  was  summed  up 


48       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

in  two  words :  noblesse  oblige.  Of  her  depths  she  knew  as 
little  as  Gregory  Compton  of  his. 

' '  This  is  Mrs.  Compton,  I  am  sure, ' '  she  said  in  her  cool 
even  voice,  as  she  came  up  behind  the  elaborately  uncon 
scious  and  humming  Ida.  ' '  I  am  Mrs.  Blake. ' ' 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  Ida  formally,  extending  a 
limp  hand.  "Come  on  inside." 

Mrs.  Blake  closed  her  eyes  as  she  entered  the  parlour, 
but  opened  them  before  Ida  had  adjusted  the  blower  to 
the  grate,  and  exclaimed  brightly: 

"How  clever  of  you  to  settle  so  quickly.  I  shouldn't 
have  dared  to  call  for  another  fortnight,  but  Mr.  Compton 
told  my  husband  yesterday  that  you  were  quite  in  order. 
It  was  three  months  before  I  dared  open  my  doors." 

"Well,"  drawled  Ida,  rocking  herself,  "I  guess  your 
friends  are  more  critical  than  mine.  And  I  guess  you 
didn't  rely  wholly  on  Butte  for  your  furniture.  I  had 
Ma's  old  junk,  and  the  rest  cost  me  just  two  hundred  dol 
lars." 

"How  very  clever  of  you!"  But  although  Mrs.  Blake 
was  doing  her  best  to  be  spontaneous  and  impressed,  Ida 
knew  instantly  that  she  had  committed  a  solecism,  and 
felt  both  angry  and  apprehensive.  She  was  more  afraid 
of  this  young  woman  than  of  her  professor.  Once  more 
she  wished  that  Mrs.  Blake  and  the  whole  caboodle  would 
leave  her  alone  till  she  was  good  and  ready. 

Ora  hastened  on  to  a  safer  topic,  local  politics. 
Butte,  tired  of  grafting  politicians,  was  considering  the 
experiment  of  permitting  a  Socialist  of  good  standing  to 
be  elected  mayor.  Ida,  like  all  women  of  the  smaller 
Western  towns,  was  interested  in  local  politics,  and,  glad 
of  the  impersonal  topic,  gave  her  visitor  intelligent  encour 
agement,  the  while  she  examined  her  critically.  She  finally 
summed  her  up  in  the  word  "pasty",  and  at  that  stage 
of  Ora  Blake's  development  the  description  was  not  inapt. 
She  took  little  or  no  interest  in  her  looks,  although  she 
dressed  well  by  instinct ;  and  nature,  supplemented  by  her 
mother,  had  given  her  style.  But  her  hair  was  almost 
colourless  and  worn  in  a  tight  knot  just  above  her  neck, 
her  complexion  was  weatherbeaten,  her  lips  rather  pale, 
and  her  body  very  thin.  But  when  men  whose  first  glance 
had  been  casual  turned  suddenly,  wondering  at  themselves, 
to  examine  that  face  so  lacking  in  the  potencies  of  colour- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       49 

ing,  they  discovered  that  the  eyes,  deeply  set  and  far 
apart,  were  of  a  deep  dark  blazing  grey,  that  the  nose  was 
straight  and  fine,  the  ears  small,  the  mouth  mobile,  with 
a  slight  downward  droop  at  the  corners;  also  that  her 
hands  and  feet  were  very  slender,  with  delicate  wrists  and 
ankles.  Ida,  too,  noted  these  points,  but  wondered  where 
her  "charm"  came  from.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Blake  pos 
sessed  this  vague  but  desirable  quality,  in  spite  of  her 
dread  reputation  as  a  "high-brow",  and  her  impersonal 
attitude  toward  men. 

Ruby  had  informed  her  that  the  men  agreed  she  had 
charm  if  she  would  only  condescend  to  exert  it.  "And 
I  can  feel  it  too,"  she  had  added,  "every  time  I  do  her 
nails — she  never  lets  anyone  do  that  hair  of  hers  or  give 
her  a  massage,  which  she  needs,  the  Lord  knows.  But  she 's 
got  fascination,  magnetism,  whatever  you  like  to  call  it, 
for  all  she's  so  washed  out.  Somehow,  I  always  feel  that 
if  she'd  wake  up,  get  on  to  herself,  she'd  play  the  devil 
with  men,  maybe  with  herself." 

Ida  recalled  the  comments  of  the  wise  Miss  Miller  and 
frowned.  This  important  feminine  equipment  she  knew  to 
be  her  very  own,  and  although  she  would  have  been  proud 
to  admit  the  rivalry  of  a  beautiful  woman,  she  felt  a  sense 
of  mortification  in  sharing  that  most  subtle  and  fateful 
of  all  gifts,  sex-magnetism,  with  one  so  colourless  and 
plain.  That  the  gifts  possessed  by  this  woman  talking 
with  such  well-bred  indifference  of  local  affairs  must  be 
far  more  subtle  than  her  own  irritated  her  still  more. 
It  also  filled  her  with  a  vague  sense  of  menace,  almost  of 
helplessness.  Later,  when  her  brain  was  more  accustomed 
to  analysis,  she  knew  that  she  had  divined — her  conscious 
ness  at  that  time  too  thick  to  formulate  the  promptings  of 
instinct — that  when  man  is  taken  unawares  he  is  held  more 
firmly  captive. 

Ida,  staring  into  those  brilliant  powerful  eyes,  felt  a  sud 
den  desperate  need  to  dive  through  their  depths  into  this 
woman's  secret  mind,  to  know  her  better  at  once,  get  rid 
of  the  sense  of  mystery  that  baffled  and  oppressed  her.  In 
short  she  must  know  where  she  was  at  and  know  it  quick. 
It  did  not  strike  her  until  afterward  as  odd  that  she  should 
have  felt  so  intensely  personal  in  regard  to  a  woman  whose 
sphere  was  not  hers  and  whose  orbit  had  but  just  crossed 
her  own. 


50      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

For  a  time  she  floundered,  but  feminine  instinct 
prompted  the  intimate  note. 

"I  saw  you  talkin' — talking  to  the  professor,"  she  said 
casually.  "I  suppose  you  know  your  husband  got  him 
for  me." 

"I  arranged  it  myself — "  began  Mrs.  Blake,  smiling, 
but  Ida  interrupted  her  sharply: 

"Greg — Mr.  Compton  didn't  tell  me  he  had  talked  to 
you  about  it." 

"Nor  did  he.  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mr. 
Compton  but  once — the  day  I  married ;  he  was  my  hus 
band 's  best  man.  Mark  never  can  get  him  to  come  to  the 
house,  hardly  to  the  club.  But  my  husband  naturally 
would  turn  over  such  a  commission  to  me.  I  hope  you 
found  the  little  professor  satisfactory." 

"He'll  do,  I  guess.  He  knows  an  awful  lot,  and  I  have 
a  pretty  good  memory.  But  to  get — and  practice — it  all 
— well,  I  guess  that  takes  years."  She  imbued  her  tones 
with  a  pathetic  wistfulness,  and  gazed  upon  her  visitor 
with  ingenuous  eyes,  brimming  with  admiration.  "It 
must  be  just  grand  to  have  got  all  that  education,  and 
to  have  lived  in  Europe  while  you  were  growing  up.  Noth 
ing  later  on  that  you  can  get  is  the  same,  I  guess.  You  look 
just  about  as  polished  off  as  I  look  raw." 

"Oh!  No!  No!"  cried  Ora  deprecatingly,  her  cheeks 
flooding  with  a  delicate  pink  that  made  her  look  very 
young  and  feminine.  She  had  begun  by  disliking  this 
dreadfully  common  person,  but  not  only  was  she  by  no 
means  as  innocent  of  vanity  as  she  had  been  trying  for 
years  to  believe,  but  she  was  almost  emotionally  swift  to 
respond  to  the  genuine  appeal.  And,  clever  as  she  was, 
it  was  not  difficult  to  delude  her. 

"Of  course  I  had  advantages  that  I  am  grateful  for, 
but  I  have  a  theory  that  it  is  never  too  late  to  begin. 
And  you  are  so  young — a  few  months  of  our  professor — 
are  you  really  ambitious?" 

"You  bet."  Ida  committed  herself  no  further  at  the 
moment. 

"Then  you  will  enjoy  study — expanding  and  furnish 
ing  your  mind.  It  is  a  wonderful  sensation!"  Mrs. 
Blake's  eyes  were  flashing  now,  her  mouth  was  soft,  her 
strong  little  chin  with  that  cleft  which  always  suggests  a 
whirlpool,  was  lifted  as  if  she  were  drinking.  "The  mo- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       51 

ment  you  are  conscious  that  you  are  using  the  magic  keys 
to  the  great  storehouses  of  the  world,  its  arts,  its  sciences, 
its  records  of  the  past — when  you  begin  to  help  yourself 
with  both  hands  and  pack  it  away  in  your  memory — always 
something  new — when  you  realise  that  the  store  is  inex 
haustible — that  in  study  at  least  there  is  no  ennui — Oh, 
I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  what  it  all  means — you  will  find 
it  out  for  yourself!" 

1  i  Jimminy ! ' '  thought  Ida.  ' '  I  guess  not !  But  that  ain  't 
where  her  charm  for  men  comes  from,  you  bet!"  Aloud 
she  said,  with  awe  in  her  voice : 

"No  wonder  you  know  so  much  when  you  like  it  like 
that.  But  don 't  it  make  you — well — kinder  lonesome  ? ' ' 

"Sometimes — lately '      Mrs.  Blake  pulled  herself  up 

with  a  deep  blush.  "It  has  meant  everything  to  me,  that 
mental  life,  and  it  always  shall!" 

The  astute  Ida  noted  the  defiant  ring  in  her  voice,  and 
plunged  in.  "I  wonder  now?  Say,  you're  a  pretty  woman 
and  a  young  one,  and  they  say  men  would  go  head  over 
ears  about  you  if  you'd  give  'em  a  show.  You've  got  a 
busy  husband  and  so  have  I.  Husbands  don't  companion 
much  and  you  can 't  make  me  believe  learning 's  all.  Don 't 
you  wish  these  American  Turks  of  husbands  would  let  us 
have  a  man  friend  occasionally?  They  say  that  in  high 
society  in  the  East  and  in  Europe,  the  women  have  all 
the  men  come  to  call  on  them  afternoons  they  like,  but  the 
ordinary  American  husband,  and  particularly  out  West — 
Lord !  When  a  woman  has  a  man  call  on  her,  she 's  about 
ready  to  split  with  her  husband — belongs  to  the  fast  set— 
and  he's  quail  hunting  somewheres  else.  Of  course  I've 
known  Mark  all  my  life — and  you  who  was — were  brought 
up  in  the  real  world — it  must  be  awful  hard  on  you. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  try  your  power  once  in  a  while,  see 
how  far  you  could  go — just  for  fun?  I  guess  you're  not 
shocked  ? ' ' 

"No,  I'm  not  shocked,"  said  Ora,  laughing.  "But  I 
don't  believe  men  interest  me  very  much  in  that  way — 
although,  heaven  knows,  there  are  few  more  delightful 
sensations  than  talking  to  a  man  who  makes  you  feel  as 
if  your  brain  were  on  fire.  I  don't  think  I  care  to  have 
American  men,  at  least,  become  interested  in  me  in  any 

other  way.     In   Europe "     She  hesitated,   and   Ida 

leaned  forward  eagerly. 


52      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Oh,  do  tell  me,  Mrs.  Blake!  I  don't  know  a  blamed 
thing.  I  've  never  been  outside  of  Montana. ' ' 

"Well — I  mean — the  American  man  takes  love  too  seri 
ously.  I  suppose  it  is  because  he  is  so  busy — he  has  to 
take  life  so  seriously.  He  specialises  intensely.  It  is  all 
or  nothing  with  him.  Of  course  I  am  talking  about  love. 
When  they  play  about,  it  is  generally  with  a  class  of 
women  of  which  we  have  no  personal  knowledge.  The 
European,  with  his  larger  leisure,  and  generations  of 
leisure  in  his  brain,  his  interest  in  everything,  and  knowl 
edge  of  many  things, — above  all  of  the  world, — has  reduced 
gallantry  to  a  fine  art.  He  may  give  his  fancy,  his  senti 
ment,  his  passion,  even  his  leisure,  to  one  woman  at  a  time, 
but  his  heart — well,  unless  he  is  very  young — that  remains 
quite  intact.  Love  is  the  game  of  his  life  with  a  change  of 
partner  at  reasonable  intervals.  In  other  words  he  is  far 
too  accomplished  and  sophisticated  to  be  romantic.  Now, 
your  American  man,  although  he  looks  the  reverse  of  ro 
mantic,  and  is  always  afraid  of  making  a  fool  of  himself, 
when  he  does  fall  in  love  with  a  woman — say,  across  a  legal 
barrier — must  annihilate  the  barrier  at  once;  in  other 
words,  elope  or  rush  to  the  divorce  court.  It  isn't  that 
he  is  more  averse  from  a  liaison  than  the  European,  but 
more  thorough.  It  is  all  or  nothing.  In  many  respects 
he  is  far  finer  than  the  European,  but  he  makes  for  tur 
moil,  and,  less  subtle,  he  fails  to  hold  our  interest." 

"You  mean  he  don't  keep  us  guessing?  Well,  you're 
right  about  most  of  them.  I  never  saw  a  boy  I  couldn't 
read  like  a  page  ad.,  until  I  met  my  husband.  I  thought 
I  knew  him,  too,  till  I'd  been  married  to  him  awhile. 
But,  my  land,  he  gets  deeper  every  minute.  I  guess  if 
I  hadn't  married  him  he'd  have  kidnapped  me,  he  was 
that  gone,  and  forgetting  anything  else  existed.  Of  course, 
I  didn't  expect  that  to  last,  but  I  did  think  he'd  go  on 
being  transparent.  But,  believe  me,  the  Sphinx  ain't  a 
patch  on  him.  I  sometimes  think  I  don't  know  him  at  all, 
and  that  keeps  me  interested." 

' '  I  should  think  it  might ! ' '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blake,  think 
ing  of  her  own  standard  possession.  "But  then  Mr.  Comp- 
ton  is  a  hard  student,  and  is  said  to  have  a  voracious  as 
well  as  a  brilliant  mind.  No  doubt  that  is  the  secret  of 
what  appears  on  the  surface  as  complexity  and  secretive- 
ness.  I  know  the  symptoms!" 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       53 

"P'raps.  But — well,  I  live  with  him,  and  I  suspicion 
otherwise.  I  suspect  him  of  having  as  many  kind  of  leads, 
and  cross-cuts,  and  'pockets',  and  veins  full  of  different 
kinds  of  ore  in  him  as  we've  got  right  under  our  feet  in 
Butte  Hill.  Do  you  think" — she  spoke  with  a  charming 
wistfulness — 'that  when  I  know  more,  have  opened  up  and 
let  out  my  top  story,  as  it  were,  I  shall  understand  him 
better?"  ^^ 

And  again  Ora  responded  warmly,  "Indeed,  yes,  dear 
Mrs.  Compton.  It  isn't  so  much  what  you  put  into  your 
mind — it's  more  the  reflex  action  of  that  personal  collec 
tion  in  developing  not  only  the  mental  faculties,  but  one's 
intuitions,  one's  power  to  understand  others — even  one 
whose  interests  are  different,  or  whose  knowledge  is  in 
finitely  greater  than  our  own." 

' '  I  believe  you  could  even  understand  Greg ! ' '  Ida  spoke 
involuntarily  and  stared  with  real  admiration  at  the 
quickened  face  with  its  pink  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  its 
childish  mobile  mouth.  Ora  at  the  moment  looked  beauti 
ful.  Suddenly  Ida  felt  as  if  half-drowned  in  a  wave  of 
ambiguous  terror.  She  sat  up  very  straight. 

1 1 1  guess  you  're  right, ' '  she  said  slowly.  ' '  You  've  made 
me  see  it  as  the  others  haven 't.  I  '11  work  at  all  that  measly 
little  professor  gives  me,  but — I  don't  know — somehow,  I 
can't  think  he'll  do  much  more  than  make  me  talk  decent. 
There's  nothing  to  him." 

Ora's  heart  beat  more  quickly.  Her  indifference  had 
vanished  in  this  intimate  hour,  also  her  first  subtle  dislike 
of  Ida,  who's  commonness  now  seemed  picturesque,  and 
whose  wistful  almost  complete  ignorance  had  made  a  strong 
appeal  to  her  sympathies.  For  the  first  time  in  her  lonely 
life  she  felt  that  she  had  something  to  give.  And  here 
was  raw  and  promising  material  ready  and  eager  to  be 
woven,  if  not  into  cloth  of  silver,  at  least  into  a  quality 
of  merchandise  vastly  superior  to  that  which  the  rude 
loom  of  youth  had  so  far  produced.  All  she  knew  of 
Gregory  Compton,  moreover,  made  her  believe  in  and  ad 
mire  him ;  the  loneliness  of  his  mental  life  with  this  woman 
appalled  her.  This  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  been 
forced  to  admit  of  late  that  under  the  cool  bright  surface 
of  her  nature  were  more  womanly  impulses  than  formerly, 
a  spontaneous  warmth  that  was  almost  like  the  quickening 
of  a  child ;  but  she  had  turned  from  the  consciousness  with 


54      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

an  impatient:  "What  nonsense!  What  on  earth  should 
I  do  with  it?"  The  sense  that  she  was  of  no  vital  use 
to  anyone  had  discouraged  her,  dimmed  her  interest  in 
her  studies.  Her  husband  could  hire  a  better  housekeeper, 
find  a  hundred  girls  who  would  companion  him  better, 
And  what  if  she  were  instruite?  So  were  thousands  of 
women.  Nothing  was  easier. 

But  this  clever  girl  of  the  people,  who  might  before 
many  years  had  passed  be  one  of  the  rich  and  conspicuous 
women  of  the  United  States,  above  all,  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  nation's  "big  men,"  working  himself  beyond  human 
capacity,  harassed,  needing  not  only  physical  comfort  at 
home,  but  counsel,  companionship,  perfect  understand 
ing, — might  it  not  be  her  destiny  to  equip  Ida  Compton 
for  her  double  part  ?  Ora  's  imagination,  the  most  precious 
and  the  most  dangerous  of  her  gifts,  was  at  white  heat. 
To  her  everlasting  credit  would  be  the  fashioning  of  a 
helpmate  for  one  of  her  country 's  great  men.  It  would  be 
enough  to  do  as  much  for  the  state  which  her  imperfect 
father  had  loved  so  passionately;  but  her  imagination 
would  not  confine  Gregory  Compton  within  the  limitations 
of  a  state.  It  was  more  than  likely  that  his  destiny  would 
prove  to  be  national;  and  she  had  seen  the  wives  of  cer 
tain  men  eminent  in  political  Washington,  but  of  obscure 
origin.  They  were  Ida's  mannered,  grooved,  crystallised; 
women  to  flee  from. 

She  leaned  forward  and  took  Ida's  hand  in  both  of 
hers.  "Dear  Mrs.  Compton!"  she  exclaimed.  "Do  let 
me  teach  you  what  little  I  know.  I  mean  of  art — history 
— the  past — the  present — I  have  portfolios  of  beautiful 
photographs  of  great  pictures  and  scenes  that  I  collected 
for  years  in  Europe.  It  will  do  me  so  much  good  to  go 
over  them.  I  haven't  had  the  courage  to  look  at  them  for 
years.  And  the  significant  movements,  social,  political, 
religious, — all  this  theft  under  so  many  different  names, — 
Christian  Science,  the  'Uplift'  Movement,  Occultism — 
from  the  ancient  Hindu  philosophy — it  would  be  delightful 
to  go  into  it  with  some  one.  I  am  sure  I  could  make  it 
all  most  interesting  to  you." 

"My  Gorrd!"  thought  Ida.  "Two  of  'em!  What  am 
I  let  in  for?"  But  the  undefined  sharp  sense  of  terror 
lingered,  and  she  answered  when  she  got  her  breath, 

"I'd  like  it  first  rate.    The  work  in  this  shack  is  noth- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       55 

ing.  Mr.  Compton  leaves  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and 
don't  show  up  till  nearly  six.  The  professor's  coming 
for  an  hour  every  other  afternoon.  But  if  I  go  to  your 
house  I  want  it  understood  that  I  don't  meet  anyone  else. 
I've  got  my  reasons." 

"You  shall  not  meet  a  soul.  Can't  you  imagine  how 
sick  I  am  of  Butte?  We'll  have  heavenly  times.  I  was 
wondering  only  the  other  day  of  what  use  was  all  this 
heterogeneous  mass  of  stuff  I'd  put  into  my  head.  But," 
she  added  gaily,  "I  know  now  it  was  for  you  to  select 
from.  I  am  so  glad.  And — and—  Her  keen  percep 

tions  suggested  a  more  purely  feminine  bait.  "You  were 
with  Madame  O'Reilley,  were  you  not?  I  get  my  things 
from  a  very  good  dressmaker  in  New  York.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  copy  some  of  them?" 

"Aw!  Would  I?"  Ida  gasped  and  almost  strangled. 
For  the  first  time  during  this  the  most  trying  day  of 
her  life  she  felt  wholly  herself.  "You  may  just  bet  your 
life  I  would.  I  need  new  duds  the  worst  way,  even  if  I'm 
not  a  West  Sider.  I  've  been  on  a  ranch  for  nearly  a  year 
and  a  half,  and  although  Mr.  Compton  won't  take  me  to 
any  balls,  there  are  the  movin'  pictures  and  the  mats — 
matinees ;  and  the  street,  where  I  have  to  show  up  once  in 
a  while!  I  used  to  think  an  awful  lot  of  my  looks  and 
style,  and  I  guess  it's  time  to  begin  again.  I  can  sew  first 
rate,  make  any  old  thing.  Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Indeed  I  do!  I  want  to  be  of  help  to  you  in  every 
way."  She  rose  and  held  Ida's  hand  once  more  in  hers, 
although  she  did  not  kiss  her  as  another  woman  might  have 
done.  "Will  you  come  to-morrow — about  two?" 

"You  may  bet  your  bottom  dollar  I'll  come.  I  haven't 
thanked  you,  but  maybe  I'll  do  that  some  other  way." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Blake  lightly. 


IX 

DUTTE,  "the  richest  hill  in  the  world"  (known  at  a  pe 
riod  when  less  famous  for  metals  and  morals  as 
''Perch  of  the  Devil"),  is  a  long  scraggy  ridge  of  granite 
and  red  and  grey  dirt  rising  abruptly  out  of  a  stony  un 
even  plain  high  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  city  is 
scooped  out  of  its  south  slope,  and  overflows  upon  The 
Flat.  Big  Butte,  an  equally  abrupt  protuberance,  but 
higher,  steeper,  more  symmetrical,  stands  close  beside  the 
treasure  vault,  but  with  the  aloof  and  somewhat  cynical 
air  of  even  the  apocryphal  volcano.  On  all  sides  the 
sterile  valley  heaves  away  as  if  abruptly  arrested  in  a  throe 
of  the  monstrous  convulsion  that  begat  it;  but  pressing 
close,  cutting  the  thin  brilliant  air  with  its  icy  peaks,  is 
an  irregular  and  nearly  circular  chain  of  mountains,  un 
broken  white  in  winter,  white  on  the  blue  enamelled  slopes 
in  summer. 

For  nearly  half  the  year  the  whole  scene  is  white,  with 
not  a  tree,  nor,  beyond  the  straggling  town  itself,  a  house 
to  break  its  frozen  beauty.  It  is  only  when  the  warm 
Chinook  wind  roars  in  from  the  west  and  melts  the  snow 
much  as  lightning  strikes,  or  when  Summer  herself  has 
come,  that  you  realize  the  appalling  surface  barrenness 
of  this  region  devastated  for  many  years  by  the  sulphur 
and  arsenic  fumes  of  ore  roasted  in  the  open  or  belching 
from  the  smelters.  They  ate  up  the  vegetation,  and  the 
melting  snows  and  heavy  June  rains  washed  the  weakened 
earth  from  the  bones  of  valley  and  mountain,  leaving  both 
as  stark  as  they  must  have  been  when  the  earth  ceased 
to  rock  and  began  to  cool.  Since  the  smelters  have  gone 
to  Anaconda,  patches  of  green,  of  a  sad  and  timid  tender 
ness,  like  the  smile  of  a  child  too  long  neglected,  have  ap 
peared  between  the  sickly  grey  boulders  of  the  foothills, 
and,  in  Butte,  lawns  as  large  as  a  tablecloth  have  been  cul 
tivated.  Anaconda  Hill  at  the  precipitous  eastern  end  of 
the  city,  with  its  tangled  mass  of  smokestacks,  gallows- 

56 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       57 

frames,  shabby  grey  buildings,  trestles,  looks  like  a  gigan 
tic  shipwreck,  but  is  merely  the  portal  to  the  precious  ore 
bodies  of  the  mines  whose  shafts,  levels,  and  cross-cuts  to 
the  depth  of  three  thousand  feet  and  more,  pierce  and 
ramify  under  city  and  valley.  These  hideous  buildings 
through  which  so  many  hundreds  of  millions  have  passed, 
irrupt  into  the  very  back  yards  of  some  of  the  homes,  built 
too  far  east  (and  before  mere  gold  and  silver  gave  place  to 
copper)  ;  but  the  town  improves  as  it  leaps  westward. 
The  big  severe  solid  buildings  to  be  found  in  every  mod 
ern  city  sure  of  its  stability  crowd  the  tumble-down  wood 
structures  of  a  day  when  no  man  looked  upon  Butte  as 
aught  but  a  camp.  And  although  the  streets  are  vocifer 
ously  cobbled,  the  pavements  are  civilised  here  and  there. 
Farther  west  the  houses  of  the  residence  section  grow 
more  and  more  imposing,  coinciding  with  the  sense  of 
Butte 's  inevitableness.  On  the  high  western  rim  of  the 
city  (which  exteriorly  has  as  many  ups  and  downs  as 
the  story  of  its  vitals)  stands  the  red  School  of  Mines. 
It  has  a  permanent  expression  of  surprise,  natural  to  a 
bit  of  Italian  renaissance  looking  down  upon  Butte. 

Some  of  the  homes,  particularly  those  of  light  pressed 
brick,  and  one  that  looks  like  the  northeast  corner  of  the 
upper  story  of  a  robber  stronghold  of  the  middle  ages,  are 
models  of  taste  and  not  too  modest  symbols  of  wealth ;  but 
north  and  south  and  east  and  west  are  the  snow  wastes 
in  winter  and  the  red  or  grey  untidy  desert  of  sand  and 
rock  in  summer. 

But  if  Butte  is  the  ugliest  city  in  the  United  States,  she 
knows  how  to  make  amends.  She  is  alive  to  her  finger  tips. 
Her  streets,  her  fine  shops,  her  hotels,  her  great  office 
buildings,  are  always  swarming  and  animated.  At  no  time, 
not  even  in  the  devitalised  hours  that  precede  the  dawn, 
does  she  sink  into  that  peace  which  even  a  metropolis  wel 
comes.  She  has  the  jubilant  expression  of  one  who  coins 
the  very  air,  the  thin,  sparkling,  nervous  air,  into  shining 
dollars,  and,  confident  in  the  inexhaustible  riches  beneath 
her  feet,  knows  that  she  shall  go  on  coining  them  for  ever. 
Even  the  squads  of  miners,  always,  owing  to  the  three 
shifts,  to  be  seen  on  the  street  corners,  look  satisfied  and 
are  invariably  well-dressed.  Not  only  do  these  mines  with 
their  high  wages  and  reasonable  hours  draw  the  best  class 
of  workingmen,  but  there  are  many  college  men  in  them. 


58      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

many  more  graduates  from  the  High  Schools  of  Montana. 
The  "Bohunks, "  or  "dark  men,"  an  inferior  class  of 
Southern  Europeans,  who  live  like  pigs  and  send  their 
wages  home,  rarely  if  ever  are  seen  in  these  groups. 

And  if  Butte  be  ugly,  hopelessly,  uncompromisingly 
ugly,  her  compensation  is  akin  to  that  of  many  an  heiress: 
she  never  forgets  that  she  is  the  richest  hill  in  the  world. 
Even  the  hard  grip  of  the  most  unassailable  trust  in 
America,  which  has  absorbed  almost  as  much  of  Montana's 
surface  as  of  its  hidden  treasure,  does  not  interfere  with 
her  prosperity  or  supreme  complacency.  And  although  she 
has  her  pestilential  politicians,  her  grafters  and  crooks, 
and  is  so  tyrannically  unionized  that  the  workingman 
groans  under  the  yoke  of  his  brother  and  forgets  to  curse 
the  trust,  yet  ability  and  talent  make  good  as  always ;  and 
in  that  electrified  city  of  permanent  prosperity  there  is  a 
peculiar  condition  that  offsets  its  evils :  it  is  a  city  of 
sudden  and  frequent  vacancies.  New  York,  Europe,  above 
all,  California,  swarm  with  former  Montanans,  particularly 
of  Butte,  who  have  coppered  their  nests,  and  transplanted 
them  with  a  still  higher  sense  of  achievement. 

Ora  was  thinking  of  Butte  and  the  world  beyond  Butte, 
as  she  splashed  along  through  the  suddenly  melted  snow 
toward  her  home  on  the  West  Side.  The  Chinook,  loud 
herald  from  Japan,  had  swept  down  like  an  army  in  the 
night  and  turned  the  crisp  white  streets  to  rivers  of 
mud.  But  Ora  wore  stout  walking  boots,  and  her  short 
skirt,  cut  by  a  master  hand,  was  wide  enough  to  permit 
the  impatient  stride  she  never  had  been  able  to  modify 
in  spite  of  her  philosophy  and  the  altitude.  She  walked 
several  miles  a  day  and  in  all  weathers  short  of  a  blizzard ; 
but  not  until  the  past  few  weeks  with  the  admission  that 
her  increasing  restlessness,  her  longing  for  Europe,  was 
growing  out  of  bonds.  She  wondered  to-day  if  it  were 
Europe  she  wanted,  or  merely  a  change. 

She  had,  of  course,  no  money  of  her  own,  and  never  had 
ceased  to  be  grateful  that  her  husband's  prompt  and  gen 
erous  allowance  made  it  unnecessary  to  ask  alms  of  him. 
Three  times  since  her  marriage  he  had  suddenly  presented 
her  with  a  check  for  several  hundred  dollars  and  told 
her  to  "give  her  nerves  a  chance"  either  down  "on  the 
coast,"  or  in  New  York.  She  had  always  fled  to  New 
York,  remained  a  month  or  six  weeks,  gone  day  and  night 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       59 

to  opera,  theatre,  concerts,  art  exhibitions,  not  forgetting 
her  tailor  and  dressmaker ;  returning  to  Butte  as  refreshed 
as  if  she  had  taken  her  heart  and  nerves,  overworked  by 
the  altitude,  down  to  the  poppy  fields  of  Southern  Cali 
fornia. 

Her  vacations  and  her  husband's  never  coincided.  Mark 
always  departed  at  a  moment's  notice  for  Chicago  or  New 
York,  alleging  pressing  business.  He  returned,  after 
equally  pressing  delays,  well,  complacent,  slightly  apolo 
getic. 

Ora  knew  that  she  had  but  to  ask  permission  to  spend  the 
rest  of  the  winter  in  New  York,  for  not  only  was  Mark  the 
most  indulgent  of  husbands,  but  he  was  proud  of  his 
wife's  connections  in  the  American  Mecca,  not  unwilling  to 
read  references  in  the  Butte  newspapers  to  her  sojourn 
among  them.  The  "best  people"  of  these  Western  towns 
rarely  have  either  friends  or  relatives  in  the  great  cities 
of  the  East.  The  hardy  pioneer  is  not  recruited  from  the 
aristocracies  of  the  world,  and  the  dynamic  men  and 
women  that  have  made  the  West  what  it  is  have  the  blood 
of  the  old  pioneers  in  them. 

Ora  was  one  of  the  few  exceptions.  Her  father  had  been 
the  last  of  a  distinguished  line  of  jurists  unbroken  since 
Jonathan  Stratton  went  down  with  Alexander  Hamilton 
in  the  death  struggle  between  the  Federal  and  the  new 
Kepublican  party.  Ora's  mother,  one  of  New  York's  im 
ported  beauties  for  a  season,  who  had  languished  thereto 
fore  on  the  remnants  of  a  Louisiana  plantation,  impecuni- 
ous  and  ambitious,  but  inexperienced  and  superficially  im 
aginative,  married  the  handsome  and  brilliant  lawyer  for 
love,  conceiving  that  it  would  be  romantic  to  spend  a  few 
years  in  a  mining  camp,  where  she,  indubitably,  would  be 
its  dominant  lady.  Butte  did  not  come  up  to  her  ideas  of 
romance.  Nor  had  she  found  it  possible  to  dislodge  the 
passively  determined  women  with  the  pioneer  blood  in  their 
veins.  The  fumes  afflicted  her  delicate  lungs,  the  altitude 
her  far  more  delicate  nerves.  Judge  Stratton  deposited 
her  in  the  drawing-room  of  an  eastern  bound  train  with 
increasing  relish.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  little  girl  he 
would  have  bade  her  upon  the  second  or  third  of  these 
migrations  to  establish  herself  in  Paris  and  return  no  more. 

During  these  long  pilgrimages  Ora,  even  while  attend 
ing  school  in  New  York,  Paris,  Berlin,  Rome,  Vevey,  had 


60       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

seen  something  of  society,  for  Mrs.  Stratton  was  ever  sur 
rounded  by  it,  and  did  not  approve  of  the  effect  of  board 
ing  school  diet  on  the  complexion.  But  the  ardours  of  her 
mind,  encouraged  always  by  her  father,  who  never  was  too 
busy  to  write  to  her,  had  made  her  indifferent  to  the  ad 
vantages  prized  by  Mrs.  Stratton. 

To-day  she  was  conscious  of  a  keen  rebellious  desire  for 
something  more  frivolous,  light,  exciting,  than  had  en 
tered  her  life  for  many  a  year.  There  can  be  little  variety 
and  no  surprises  in  the  social  life  of  a  small  community — 
for  even  scandal  and  divorce  grow  monotonous — and  al 
though  she  could  always  enjoy  an  hour's  intellectual  com 
panionship  with  the  professors  of  the  School  of  Mines, 
whenever  it  pleased  her  to  summon  them,  Ora,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  twenty-six  years,  had  drifted  into  a  condition 
of  mind  where  intellectual  revels  made  no  appeal  to  her 
whatever. 

She  had  wondered  before  this  if  her  life  would  have 
been  purely  mental  had  her  obligations  been  different, 
but  had  dismissed  the  thought  as  not  only  dangerous  but 
ungrateful.  She  had  reason  to  go  on  her  knees  to  her 
intellect,  its  ambitions  and  its  furniture,  for  without  it 
life  would  have  been  insupportable.  She  ordered  her 
quickening  ego  back  to  the  rear,  or  the  depths,  or  wherever 
it  bided  its  time,  none  too  amenable;  she  was  only  begin 
ning  to  guess  the  proportions  it  might  assume  if  encour 
aged;  the  vague  phantoms  floating  across  her  mind, 
will-o'-the-wisps  in  a  fog  bank,  frightened  her.  Several 
months  since  she  had  set  her  lips,  and  her  mind  the  task 
of  acquiring  the  Russian  language.  It  had  always  been 
her  experience  that  nothing  compared  with  a  new  language 
as  a  mental  usurper. 

She  had  entered  into  a  deliberate  partnership  with  a 
man  who  protected  and  supported  her,  and  she  would  keep 
the  letter,  far  as  its  spirit  might  be  beyond  the  reach  of 
her  will.  Even  were  she  to  become  financially  independent, 
it  was  doubtful  if  she  would  leave  him  for  a  long  period ; 
and  for  New  York  and  its  social  diversions  she  cared  not 
at  all.  What  she  wanted  was  adventure — she  stumbled  on 
the  word,  and  stopped  with  a  gasp.  Adventure.  For  the 
first  time  she  wished  she  were  a  man.  She  would  pack  two 
mules  with  a  prospector's  outfit  and  disappear  into  the 
mountains. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       61 

She  swung  her  mind  to  the  Russian  grammar,  enough 
to  impale  it  in  the  death  agony ;  but  when  she  had  entered 
her  home,  and,  after  a  visit  to  her  leisurely  cook,  who  was 
a  unionized  socialist,  ascended  to  her  bedroom  and  stood 
before  her  mirror,  she  decided  that  it  was  her  singular 
interview  with  the  wife  of  Gregory  Compton  that  had 
thrown  her  mind  off  its  delicate  balance.  She  recalled 
that  Mrs.  Compton — certainly  an  interesting  creature  in 
spite  of  her  appalling  commonness — had  told  her  fla 
grantly  that  she  was  young,  pretty,  and  attractive  to  men, 
even  as  are  young  and  pretty  women  without  too  much 
brains.  The  compliment — or  was  it  the  suggestion? — 
had  thrilled  her,  and  it  thrilled  her  again.  Men  sometimes 
had  tried  to  make  love  to  her,  but  she  had  ascribed  such 
charm  as  she  appeared  to  possess  to  the  automatically 
vibrating  magnet  of  youth;  and  although  she  had  never 
been  above  a  passing  flirtation,  either  in  her  mother 's  salon 
or  in  Butte,  she  merely  had  been  bored  if  the  party  of 
the  other  part  had  taken  his  courage  in  his  hands  on  the 
morrow.  Scruples  did  not  trouble  her.  The  American 
woman,  she  would  have  reasoned,  is  traditionally  "cold." 
American  men,  brought  up  on  her  code  of  ethics,  are  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Had  she  been  superficial  in  her  conclusions?  Could  she 
attract  men  more  potently  than  by  a  merely  girlish  charm 
and  a  vivacious  mind?  Her  memory  ran  rapidly  over 
the  functions  of  the  winter,  particularly  the  dinners  and 
dances.  She  could  not  recall  a  passing  conquest.  She  was 
angry  to  feel  herself  shiver,  but  she  jerked  off  her  hat,  and 
the  pins  out  of  her  fine  abundant  hair.  She  was  twenty-six. 
Had  she  gone  off?  Faded?  She  never  had  been  called  a 
beauty,  never  had  had  the  vanity  to  think  herself  a  beauty, 
but  she  remembered  that  sometimes  in  an  animated  com 
pany  she  had  glanced  into  the  passing  mirror  and  thought 
herself  quite  pretty,  with  her  pink  cheeks  and  sparkling 
eyes.  But  normally  she  was  too  washed-out  for  beauty, 
however  good  her  features  might  be,  and  of  course  she  had 
no  figure  at  all.  She  dressed  well  from  force  of  habit,  and 
she  had  the  carriage  at  least  to  set  off  smartly  cut  gar 
ments,  but  as  much  might  be  said  of  a  dressmaker's 
"form." 

And  her  skin  was  sallow  and  sunburned  and  weather- 
beaten  and  dry,  as  any  neglected  skin  in  a  high  altitude  is 


62      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

sure  to  be.  Once  it  had  been  as  white  as  her  native  snows. 
Her  hair,  also  the  victim  of  the  high  dry  air,  and  exposed  to 
the  elements  for  hours  together,  was  more  colourless  than 
Nature  had  made  it — dull — dead.  She  held  out  a  strand  in 
dismay,  remembering  how  her  cendre  hair  had  been  ad 
mired  in  Paris;  then  with  a  sudden  sense  of  relief  (it  es 
caped  from  the  cellar  where  her  ego  was  immured  on 
bread  and  water)  she  informed  herself  that  it  was  her 
duty  to  invoke  the  services  of  Miss  Ruby  Miller.  No 
woman  with  proper  pride — or  self-respect — would  let  her 
skin  go  to  pot,  no,  not  at  any  age ;  certainly  not  at  twenty- 
six.  She  recalled  an  impulsive  remark  of  Miss  Miller's 
a  few  months  since  when  arranging  her  hair  for  a  fancy- 
dress  ball,  and  gave  another  sigh — of  hope. 
So  does  Nature  avenge  herself. 


SHE  heard  her  husband's  voice  as  he  entered  the  house, 
and  hastily  changed  her  walking  suit  for  one  of  the 
soft  tea  gowns  she  wore  when  they  were  alone.  This  was 
a  simple  thing  of  a  Copenhagen-blue  silk,  with  a  guimpe  of 
fine  white  net,  and  trimmed  about  the  neck  and  half  sleeves 
with  the  newest  and  softest  of  the  year's  laces,  bne 
noticed  with  some  satisfaction  that  her  neck,  below  the  col 
lar  line,  was  very  white ;  and  she  suddenly  covered  the  rest 
of  it  with  powder,  then  rubbed  the  puff  over  her  face, 
was  ordinary  "baby  powder"  for  the  bath,  for  she  never 
had  indulged  in  toilet  accessories,  but  it  answered  its  pur 
pose  if  only  to  demonstrate  what  she  might  have  been  had 
she  safeguarded  the  gifts  of  nature.  And  the  dull  blue 
gown  was  suddenly  becoming. 

Her  husband,  who  had  spent  the  intervening  time  in  the 
library,  ran  upstairs  whistling  in  spite  of  his  girth— he 
was  the  lightest  dancer  in  Butte — and  knocked  on  her 
door  before  going  to  his  own  room. 

"Say,"  he  said,  as  he  chucked  her  under  the  chin,  and 
kissed  her  maritally,  "but  you  look  all  right.  Run  down 
stairs  and  hold  your  breath  until  I  've  made  myself  beau 
tiful.  I've  got  big  news  for  you." 

She  rustled  softly  down  the  stair,  wondering  what  tne 
news  might  be,  but  not  unduly  interested.  Mark  was  al 
ways  excited  over  his  new  cases.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
retained  by  Amalgamated.  She  hoped  so.  He  deserved  it, 
for  he  worked  harder  than  anyone  knew.  And  she  liked 
him  sincerely,  quite  without  mitigation  now  that  the  years 
had  taught  him  the  folly  of  being  in  love  with  her. 

And  he  certainly  had  given  her  a  pretty  home.  The 
house  was  not  large  enough  to  be  pointed  out  by  the  con 
ductor  of  the  "Seeing  Butte  Car,"  but  it  had  been  de 
signed  by  a  first  rate  architect,  and  had  a  certain  air  of 
spaciousness  within.  Mrs.  Stratton  had  furnished  a  flat  in 
Paris  two  years  before  her  husband's  death,  her  excuse 

63 


64      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

being  that  the  interior  of  the  Butte  house  got  on  her 
nerves,  and  there  was  no  other  way  to  take  in  household 
goods  free  of  duty.  Ora  had  shipped  them  when  the  news 
of  her  father's  death  and  their  own  poverty  came,  know 
ing  that  she  would  get  a  better  price  for  the  furniture  in 
Butte,  where  some  one  always  was  building,  than  in 
Paris. 

Before  it  arrived  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry 
Mark  Blake,  and  although  it  was  several  years  before  they 
had  a  house  she  kept  it  in  storage.  In  consequence  her 
little  drawing-room  with  its  gay  light  formal  French  furni 
ture  was  unique  in  Butte,  city  of  substantial  and  tasteful 
(sometimes)  but  quite  unindividual  homes.  Mark  was 
thankful  that  he  was  light  of  foot,  less  the  bull  in  the 
china  shop  than  he  looked,  and  would  have  preferred  red 
walls,  an  oriental  divan  and  Persian  rugs.  He  felt  more 
at  home  in  the  library,  a  really  large  room  lined  from 
floor  to  ceiling  not  only  with  Ora's  but  Judge  Stratton's 
books,  which  Mark  had  bought  for  a  song  at  the  auction; 
and  further  embellished  with  deep  leather  chairs  and 
several  superb  pieces  of  carved  Italian  furniture.  Ora 
spent  the  greater  part  of  her  allowance  on  books,  and 
many  hours  of  her  day  in  this  room.  But  to-night  she 
deliberately  went  into  the  frivolous  French  parlour,  turned 
on  all  the  lights,  and  sat  down  to  await  her  husband's 
reappearance. 

Mark,  who  had  taken  kindly  to  the  idea  of  dressing  for 
dinner,  came  running  down  stairs  in  a  few  moments. 

"In  the  doll's  house?"  he  called  out,  as  he  saw  the  il 
lumination  in  the  drawing-room.  * '  Oh,  come  on  into  a  real 
room  and  mix  me  a  cocktail." 

"It  isn't  good  for  you  to  drink  cocktails  so  long  before 
eating;  Huldah,  who  receives  'The  People's  War  Cry'  on 
Monday,  informed  me  that  dinner  would  be  half  an  hour 
late." 

"I  wish  you'd  chuck  that  wooden-faced  leaden-footed 
apology  for  a  servant.  This  is  the  third  time " 

"And  get  a  worse?  Butte  rains  efficient  servants! 
Please  sit  down.  I — feel  like  this  room  to-night.  You  may 
smoke. ' ' 

"Thanks.  I  believe  this  is  the  first  time  you  have  given 
me  permission.  But  I'm  bound  to  say  the  room  suits 
you. ' ' 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       65 

Ora  sat  in  a  chaise-longue  of  the  XVme  Siecle,  a  piece  of 
furniture  whose  awkward  grace  gives  a  woman's  arts  full 
scope.  Much  exercise  had  preserved  the  natural  supple 
ness  of  Ora's  body  and  she  had  ancestral  memories  of  all 
arts  and  wiles.  Mark  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  stiff 
little  sofa  covered  with  faded  Aubusson  tapestry,  and 
hunched  his  shoulders. 

''If  the  French  women  furnish  their  rooms  like  this  I 
don't  believe  all  that's  said  about  them,"  'he  commented 
wisely.  "Men  like  to  be  comfortable  even  when  they're 
looking  at  a  pretty  woman." 

"Mama  let  me  choose  the  furniture  for  this  room, 
and  I  wasn't  thinking  much  about  your  sex  at  the  time. 
I — I  think  it  expressed  a  side  of  me  that  I  wasn't  con 
scious  of  then." 

"  It 's  a  pretty  room  all  right. ' '  Mark  lit  the  consolatory 
cigarette.  ' '  But  not  to  sit  in.  What  struck  you  to-night  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  I'd  been  thinking  of  Paris." 

Mark's  face  was  large  and  round  and  bland ;  it  was  only 
when  he  drew  his  brows  together  that  one  saw  how  small 
and  sharp  his  eyes  were. 

"  H  'm.  I  've  wondered  sometimes  if  you  weren  't  hanker 
ing  after  Europe.  I  suppose  it  gets  into  the  blood." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  gets  into  the  blood!"  Ora  spoke  lightly,  but 
she  was  astonished  at  his  insight. 

"I've  never  been  able  to  send  you — not  as  you  were 
used  to  going — I  don't  see  you  doing  anything  on  the 
cheap ' 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mark,  you  are  goodness  itself.  I've 
thought  very  little  about  it,  really." 

"Suppose  you  found  yourself  suddenly  rich,  would 
you  light  out  and  leave  me?" 

"We'd  go  together.  It  would  be  great  fun  being  your 
cicerone. ' ' 

"No  chance!  I'm  going  to  be  a  rich  man  inside  the 
next  ten  years,  and  here  I  stick.  And  I  don't  see  myself 
travelling  on  a  woman's  money,  either.  But  I  suppose 
you'd  be  like  all  the  rest  if  you  could  afford  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Of  course  I  look  forward  to  spend 
ing  a  year  in  Europe  once  more — I'd  hardly  be  human  if 
I  didn't.  But  I  can  wait  for  you." 

"  I  've  always  admired  your  philosophy, ' '  he  said  grimly. 
"And  now  I've  got  a  chance  to  put  it  to  a  real  test.  I  be- 


66       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

lieve  you  are  in  a  way,  if  not  to  be  rich,  at  least  to  make 
a  pretty  good  haul." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Ora  sat  up  straight. 

"Your  father  made  a  good  many  wild-cat  investments 
when  he  first  came  out  here,  and  the  one  he  apparently 
thought  the  worst,  for  I  found  no  mention  of  it  among  his 
papers,  was  the  Oro  Fino  Primo  mine,  which  he  bought 
from  a  couple  of  sharks  in  the  year  you  were  born — 
that  ?s  where  you  got  your  name,  I  guess.  One  of  the  men 
was  a  well  known  prospector  and  the  Judge  thought  he 
was  safe.  The  ore  assayed  about  eighty  dollars  a  ton,  so 
he  took  over  the  claim,  paid  the  Lord  knows  how  much 
to  the  prospector,  who  promptly  lit  out,  had  it  patented, 
and  set  a  small  crew  to  work  under  a  manager.  They 
found  nothing  but  low  grade  ore,  which  in  those  days 
roused  about  as  much  enthusiasm  as  country  rock.  The 
mine  had  been  salted,  of  course.  It  was  some  time  before 
your  father  would  give  up,  and  he  spent  more  than  the 
necessary  amount  of  money  to  perfect  the  patent;  always 
hoping.  When  he  was  finally  convinced  there  was  noth 
ing  in  it  he  quit.  And  it  was  characteristic  of  your  father 
that  when  he  quit  he  quit  for  good.  He  simply  dismissed 
the  thing  from  his  mind.  Well,  times  have  changed  since 
then.  New  processes  and  more  railroads  have  caused  for 
tunes  to  be  made  out  of  low  grade  ore  when  there  is  enough 
of  it.  Some  people  would  rather  have  a  big  lode  of  low 
grade  ore  than  a  pockety  vein  of  rich  quartz.  As  you 
know,  abandoned  mines  are  being  leased  all  over  the  state, 
and  abandoned  prospect  holes  investigated.  Well,  there 
you  are.  This  morning  two  mining  engineers  from  New 
York  came  into  my  office  with  a  tale  of  woe.  They  came 
out  here  to  look  about,  and  after  considerable  travel  within 
a  reasonable  distance  of  railroads  found  an  old  prospect 
hole  with  a  shaft  sunk  about  fifty  feet.  It  looked  aban 
doned  all  right,  but  as  the  dump  was  still  there  and  they 
liked  the  looks  of  it  they  went  to  the  De  Smet  ranch  house 
— the  hole  is  just  over  the  border  of  Greg's  ranch — and 
made  inquiries.  Oakley,  who  is  a  monomaniac  on  the 
subject  of  intensive  farming  and  doesn't  know  a  mine 
from  a  gopher  hole,  told  them  that  the  adjacent  land  be 
longed  to  no  one  but  the  government.  So  they  staked  their 
claim,  recorded  it  in  Virginia  City,  retimbered  the  shaft 
and  sank  it  twenty  feet  deeper.  They  began  to  take  out 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       67 

ore  that  looked  good  for  fifteen  dollars  a  ton.  Then  along 
comes  an  old  prospector  and  tells  them  the  story  of  the 
mine.  They  leave  their  two  miners  on  the  job  and  post 
up  to  Helena  to  have  the  records  examined  in  the  Land 
Office.  There,  sure  enough,  they  find  that  the  mine  was 
duly  patented  by  Judge  Strattpn,  and  all  of  the  govern 
ment  requirements  complied  with.  So  they  come  to  me. 
They  want  a  bond  and  lease  for  three  years— which  means 
they  may  have  the  privilege  of  buying  at  the  end  of  the 
lease — and  offer  you  ten  per  cent,  on  the  net  proceeds.  I 
haven't  given  them  my  answer  yet,  for  I'm  going  to  take 
Greg  out  there  next  Sunday  and  have  a  look  at  it  There 
was  a  sort  of  suppressed  get-rich-quickishness  in  their 
manner,  and  their  offer  was  not  what  you  would  call 
munificent.  Greg  is  a  born  geologist,  to  say  nothing  of 
his  training.  I  don't  mean  so  much  in  the  School  of 
Mines,  but  he  was  always  gophering  about  with  old  pros 
pectors,  and  ran  away  into  the  mountains  several  times 
when  his  father  was  alive.  Never  showed  up  all  summer. 
He's  at  ore  now  every  spare  moment  he  gets,  and  is  as 
good  an  assay er  as  there  is  in  the  state.  If  there 's  mineral 
on  his  own  ranch  he'll  find  it,  and  if  there  isn't  he'll  find 
it  elsewhere.  So,  I  do  nothing  till  he's  looked  the  property 
over.  But  in  any  case  I  think  I  can  promise  you  a  good 
lump  of  money." 

Ora's  breath  was  short.  Her  face  had  been  scarlet  for 
a  few  moments  but  now  showed  quite  pale  under  the  tan 
and  powder.  When  her  husband  finished,  however,  and  she 
replied,  "How  jolly,"  her  voice  was  quite  steady. 

"And  shall  you  fly  off  and  leave  me  if  it  pans  out?" 
"Of  course  not.  What  do  you  take  me  for?" 
"To  tell  you  the  truth  it  will  mean  a  good  deal  to  me 
if  you  stay  until  the  fall.  I've  a  client  coming  out  here 
from  New  York  whom  I  am  trying  to  persuade  to  buy  the 
old  Iron  Hat  mine.  There's  a  fortune  in  it  for  anyone 
with  money  enough  to  spend  rebuilding  the  old  works 
and  putting  in  new  machinery  and  timbers;  and  a  big 
rake-off  for  me,  if  I  put  the  deal  through.  Well,  this 
client  figures  to  bring  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  you 
could  help  me  a  lot — persuade  them  they'd  have  the  time 
of  their  lives  if  they  spent  several  months  of  every  year 
out  here  for  a  while — he's  a  domestic  sort  of  man.  After 
that  take  a  flyer  if  you  like.  You  deserve  it." 


68       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"How  nice  of  you!  Here  is  dinner  at  last."  Ora  felt 
almost  physically  sick,  so  dazzling  had  been  the  sudden 
prospect  of  deliverance,  followed  by  the  certainty,  even  be 
fore  her  husband  asked  for  the  diplomatic  assistance  she 
so  often  had  given  him,  that  she  could  not  take  advantage 
of  it.  Noblesse  oblige!  For  the  moment  she  hated  her 
watchword. 

She  mixed  a  cocktail  with  steady  hand.  "I'll  indulge  in 
a  perfect  orgie  of  clothes!"  she  said  gaily.  "And  import 
a  chef.  By  the  way/'  she  added,  as  she  seated  herself  at 
the  table  and  straightened  the  knives  and  forks  beside  her 
plate,  "what  do  you  think  I  let  myself  in  for  to-day?" 

"Not  been  speculating?  There's  a  quart  of  Worcester 
shire  in  this  soup." 

"I'll  certainly  treat  you  to  a  chef.  No,  not  speculating 
— I  wonder  if  it  mightn't  be  that?  I  called  on  your 
friend's  wife " 

"Good^girl!      She's  not  your   sort,   but   she's   Greg's 

"I  thought  she  was  quite  terrible  at  first,  but  I  soon 
became  interested.  She's  clever  in  her  way,  ignorant  as 
she  is,  and  has  individuality.  Before  I  knew  it  I  had 
offered  to  take  a  hand  in  her  education " 

"Good  lord!     What  sort  of  a  hand?" 

"Oh,  just  showing  her  my  portfolios,  giving  her  some 
idea  of  art.  It  sounds  very  elemental,  but  one  must  begin 
somewhere.  She  knows  so  little  that  it  will  be  like  teach 
ing  a  child  a  b  c." 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  bore  you." 

"No,  I  like  the  idea.  It  is  something  new,  and  change 
is  good  for  the  soul.  I  have  an  idea  that  I  shall  continue 
to  find  her  as  interesting  as  I  intend  she  shall  find  the  '  les 
sons'." 

"She'll  get  more  than  lessons  on  art.  She'll  get  a  good 
tone  down,  and  she  needs  that  all  right.  Poor  old  Greg! 
He  deserved  the  best  and  he  got  Ida  Hook.  I  tried  to 
head  him  off  but  I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  head  off 
a  stampede  to  a  new  gold  diggings.  He  ought  to  have 
married  a  lady,  that's  what." 

Ora  glanced  up  quickly,  then,  thankful  that  her  husband 
was  intent  upon  his  carving,  dropped  her  eyes.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  hinted  at  the  differences  of  class.  In 
his  boyhood  there  had  been  a  mighty  gulf  between  his 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       69 

mother  and  the  haughty  Mrs.  Stratton  who  employed  her 
in  what  was  then  the  finest  house  in  Butte.  But  he  was 
too  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  West,  in 
which  he  had  spent  his  life,  to  recognise  any  difference  in 
class  save  that  which  was  determined  by  income.  As  soon 
as  his  own  abilities,  industry,  and  the  turn  of  Fortune's 
wheel,  placed  him  in  a  position  to  offer  support  to  the  two 
dainty  women  that  had  been  his  ideals  from  boyhood, 
he  knew  himself  to  be  their  equal,  without  exhausting  him 
self  in  analysis. 

As  for  Ora,  the  West  was  quick  in  her  blood,  in  spite 
of  her  heritage  and  education.  Her  father  had  assumed 
the  virtue  of  democracy  when  he  settled  in  Montana^  In 
the  course  of  a  few  years  a  genuine  liking  and  enthusiasm 
for  his  adopted  state,  as  well  as  daily  associations,  trans 
formed  him  into  as  typical  a  Westerner  as  the  West  ever 
turned  out  of  her  ruthless  crucible.  He  even  wore  a  Stet 
son  hat  when  he  visited  New  York.  His  wife's  "airs"  had 
inspired  him  with  an  increasing  disgust  which  was  one  of 
the  most  honest  emotions  of  his  life,  and  the  text  of  his  re 
peated  warnings  to  his  daughter,  whom  he  was  forced  to 
leave  to  the  daily  guidance  of  his  legal  wife  (Ora's  con 
tinued  presence  in  Butte,  would,  in  truth,  have  caused 
him  much  embarrassment),  had  been  to  cherish  her  West 
ern  birthright  as  the  most  precious  of  her  possessions, 

"Kemember  this  is  the  twentieth  century,"  he  had  writ 
ten  to  her  not  long  before  his  death.  "  There  is  no  society 
in  the  world  to-day  that  cannot  be  invaded  by  a  combina 
tion  of  money,  brains,  and  a  certain  social  talent — com 
mon  enough.  The  modern  man,  particularly  in  the  United 
States,  makes  himself.  His  ancestors  count  for  nothing, 
if  he  doesn't.  If  he  does  they  may  be  a  good  asset,  for 
they  (possibly)  have  given  him  breeding  ready  made, 
moral  fibre,  and  a  brain  of  better  composition  than  the 
average  man  of  the  people  can  expect.  But  that  is  only 
by  the  way.  The  two  most  potent  factors  in  the  world 
today  are  money  and  the  waxing,  rising,  imperishable  demo 
cratic  spirit.  That  was  reborn  out  here  in  the  West,  and 
the  West  is  invading  and  absorbing  the  East.  The  old  un- 
American  social  standards  of  the  East  are  expiring  in  the 
present  generation,  which  resort  to  every  absurdity  to  main 
tain  them;  its  self -consciousness  betraying  its  recognition 
of  the  inevitable.  Twenty  years  hence  this  class  will  be,  if 


70      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

still  clinging  to  its  spar,  as  much  of  a  national  joke  as 
the  Western  women  were  when  they  first  flashed  their 
diamonds  in  Peacock  Alley.  That  phase,  you  may  notice, 
is  so  dead  that  the  comic  papers  have  forgotten  it.  The 
phase  was  inevitable,  but  our  women  are  now  so  accus 
tomed  to  their  money  that  they  are  not  to  be  distinguished 
from  wealthy  women  anywhere  except  that  their  natural 
hospitality  and  independence  make  them  seem  more  sure 
of  themselves.  Of  course  the  innately  vulgar  are  to  be 
found  everywhere,  and  nowhere  more  abundantly  than 
in  New  York. 

"  Twenty  years  from  now,  the  West  will  have  overrun 
the  East ;  it  will  have  helped  itself  with  both  hands  to  all 
the  older  civilisation  has  to  give,  and  it  will  have  made 
New  York  as  democratic  as  Butte — or  London!  So  don't 
let  yourself  grow  up  with  any  old-fashioned  nonsense  in 
your  head.  I  want  you  to  start  out  in  life  modern  to  the 
core,  unhampered  by  any  of  the  obsolete  notions  that  make 
your  mother  and  most  of  our  relations  a  sort  of  premature 
has-beens.  When  your  time  comes  to  marry,  select  a  West 
ern  man  who  either  has  made  his  own  fortune  or  has  the 
ability  to  make  it.  Don't  give  a  thought  to  his  origin  if 
his  education  is  good,  and  his  manners  good  enough.  You 
can  supply  the  frills.  I  wouldn't  have  you  marry  a  man 
that  lacked  the  fundamentals  of  education  at  least,  but 
better  that  than  one  whose  brain  is  so  full  of  old-fashioned 
ideas  that  it  has  no  room  for  those  that  are  born  every 
minute.  And  I  hope  you  will  settle  here  in  this  state  and 
do  something  for  it,  either  through  the  abilities  of  the  man 
you  marry  or  with  your  own.  It  isn't  only  the  men  that 
build  up  a  new  state.  And  if  you  marry  a  foreigner  never 
let  me  see  nor  hear  from  you  again.  They  are  all  very 
well  in  their  way,  but  it  is  not  our  way." 

Ora,  who  had  worshipped  her  father  and  admired  him 
above  all  men,  never  forgot  a  word  he  uttered,  and  knew 
his  letters  by  heart.  Possibly  it  was  the  memory  of  this 
last  of  his  admonitions  which  had  enabled  her  to  sustain 
the  shock  of  a  proposal  from  the  son  of  her  mother's  old 
seamstress  and  of  a  miner  who  had  died  in  his  overalls 
underground.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  would  have  been  con 
scious  of  the  shock  had  it  not  been  for  Mrs.  Stratton's 
lamentations.  That  lady  from  her  sofa  in  one  of  the 
humbler  Blocks,  had  sent  wail  after  wail  in  the  direction 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL      71 

of  the  impertinent  aspirant.    Ora,  during  the  brief  period 
in  which  she  made  her  decision,  heard  so  much  about  the 
"bluest  blood  of  the  South,"  and  the  titled  foreigners 
whom  she  apparently  could  have  had  for  the  accepting 
when  she  was  supposed  to  belong  to  the  Millionaire  Sister 
hood,  that  she  began  to  ponder  upon  the  violent  contrasts 
embodied  in  Mark  with  something  like  rapture.     After 
the  marriage   was  accomplished,   Mrs.   Stratton  had  the 
grace  to  wail  in  solitude,  and  shortly  after  moved  on  to  a 
world  where  only  the  archangels  are  titled  and  never  have 
been  known  to  marry.     Ora  had  not  given  the  matter  an 
other  thought.    Mark  had  been  carefully  brought  up  by  a 
refined  little  woman,  his  vicious  tendencies  had  been  neg 
ligible,  and  he  was  too  keen  to  graduate  from  the  High 
School  and  make  his  start  in  life  to  waste  time  in  even 
the  milder  forms  of  dissipation.     When  he  married  he 
adapted  himself  imperceptibly  to  the  new  social  world  he 
entered ;  if  not  a  Beau  Brummel,  nor  an  Admirable  Crich- 
ton,  he  never  would  disgrace  his  aristocratic  wife;  and, 
unlike  Judge  Stratton,  he  wore  a  silk  hat  in  New  York. 
His  last  remark  apparently  had  been  a  mere  vapour  from 
his  subconscious  mind,  for  he  went  on  as  soon  as  he  had 
taken  the  edge  from  his  appetite,  "Perhaps  Ida  Hook  can 
be  made  into  one.    I've  seen  waitresses  and  chambermaids 
metamorphosed  by  a  million  or  two  so  that  their  own  hus 
bands  wouldn't  recognise  them  if  they  stayed  away  too 
long.    But  it  takes  time,  and  Ida  has  an  opinion  of  herself 
that  would  make  an  English  duchess  feel  like  a  slag  dump, 
gay — do  you  know  it  was  through  me  Greg  met  her?     It 
was  that  week  you  were  out  on  the  Kelley  ranch.     I  met 
two  or  three  of  the  old  crowd  on  the  street  and  nothing 
would  do  but  that  I  should  go  to  their  picnic  for  the  sake 
of  old  times.     Greg  was  in  town  and  I  persuaded  him  to 
come  along.    Didn't  want  to,  but  I  talked  him  over.    Guess 
there's  no  escaping  our  fate.     Possibly  I   couldn't  have 
coralled  him  if  it  hadn't  been  for  reaction — he'd  been 
whooping  it  up  on  The  Flat.     Well,  I  wished  afterward 
that  I'd  left  him  to  play  the  wheel  and  all  the  rest  of  it 
for  a  while  longer.     Greg  never  loses  his  head — that  is  to 
say  he  never  did  till  he  met  Ida  Hook.     The  sporting  life 
never  took  a  hold  on  him,  for  while  he  went  in  for  it  with 
the  deep  deliberation  that  was  born  in  him,  it's  just  that 
deliberation  that  saves  him  from  going  too  far.    He  cuts 


72       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

loose  the  minute  he  figured  out  beforehand  to  cut  loose, 
and  all  the  king's  horses — or  all  the  other  attractions— 
couldn't  make  him  put  in  another  second.  A  girl  shot 
herself  one  night  out  at  the  Five  Mile  House  because  he 
suddenly  said  good-bye  and  turned  on  his  heel.  She  knew 
he  meant  it.  He  never  even  turned  round  when  he  heard 
her  drop " 

"What  a  brute!" 

"Greg?  Not  he.  I've  known  him  to  sit  up  aU  night 
with  a  sick  dog " 

' '  I  hate  people  that  are  kind  to  animals  and  cruel  to  one 
another. ' ' 

"Greg  isn't  cruel.  He  said  he  was  going  and  he  went; 
that's  all.  It's  his  way.  Girls  of  that  kind  are  trash, 
anyhow,  and  when  a  woman  goes  into  the  sporting  life  she 
knows  enough  to  take  sporting  chances." 

"You  are  as  bad  as  he." 

Mark  stared  at  her  in  open-eyed  amazement.  He  never 
had  seen  her  really  roused  before.  ' '  Don 't  you  bother  your 
dear  little  head,"  he  said  soothingly.  "Angels  like  you 
don't  know  anything  about  that  sort  of  life— and  don't 
need  to." 

Ora's  anger  vanished  in  laughter.  "Well,  suppose  you 
give  me  a  hint  about  his  wife.  I  really  am  interested, 
and  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  being  of  some  use  in  the 
world." 

"You're  all  right!  Ida— well,  I  guess  you'll  do  a  lot 
for  her,  by  just  having  her  round.  She's  no  fool — and  she 
certainly  is  a  looker.  If  you  tone  her  down  and  polish 
her  up  I'll  feel  it's  a  sort  of  favour  to  myself.  Greg '11  be 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  this  country  some  day, — if  he  has 
to  walk  over  a  few  thousand  fellow  citizens  to  get  there— 
and  I  don't  want  to  see  him  queered  by  a  woman  Seen 
that  before." 

"I  intend  to  do  my  best,  but  for  her  sake,  not  his " 

"Say!"  It  was  patent  that  Mark  had  an  inspiration. 
"Why  not  take  Ida  with  you  to  Europe?  I  don't  like  the 
idea  of  a  dainty  little  thing  like  you"  (Ora  was  five  feet 
six)  "travelling  alone,  and  a  husky  girl  like  Ida  could  take 
care  of  you  while  putting  on  a  few  coats  of  European 
polish.  Greg  can  afford  it;  he  must  have  cleared  a  good 
many  thousands  on  his  ranch  during  the  last  two  years, 
besides  what  I've  turned  over  for  him;  and  he  can  live 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       73 

here  with  me  and  get  all  the  comforts  of  home.  I  '11  let  you 
off  for  six  months.  What  do  you  say  ? ' ' 

Ora  was  looking  at  him  with  pink  cheeks  and  bright 
eyes.  "You  are  sure  you  won't  mind?" 

"Ill  miss  you  like  fun,  of  course;  especially  when  you 
look  as  pretty  as  you  do  this  minute,  but  I  think  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  you  and  better  for  Ida — and  111  fire 
this  cook." 

"Will  Mr.  Compton  give  his  consent?" 

"No  one  on  God's  earth  would  take  chances  on  what 
Gregory  Compton  would  do  until  he  had  done  it,  but  I 
don't  mind  throwing  a  guess  that  he  could  live  without 
Ida  for  six  months  and  not  ask  me  to  dry  his  tears.  And 
there  isn't  a  mean  bone  in  his  body." 

"It  would  interest  me  immensely  to  take  Mrs.  Compton 
abroad.  Now  hurry  if  you  expect  to  get  a  seat  at  one  of 
the  bridge  tables.  It  is  late — 

' '  I  rather  thought  I  'd  like  to  stay  and  talk  to  you — 

"How  polite  of  you!  But  I'm  tired  out  and  going 
straight  to  bed.  So  toddle  along." 


XI 

"'TAILORED  suits  have  to  be  made  by  a  tailor,  but  I'd 
like  first  rate  to  copy  this  one  you  call  a  little  after 
noon  frock.  It's  got  the  style  all  right,  and  I  could  get 
some  cheap  nice-looking  stuff. ' ' 

Ida  was  gloating  over  Ora's  limited  but  fashionable 
wardrobe,  and  while  she  held  the  smart  afternoon  frock 
out  at  arm's  length,  her  eye  wandered  to  an  evening  gown 
of  blue  satin  and  chiffon  that  lay  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Glory!"  she  sighed.  "But  I'd  like  to  wear  a  real 
gown  like  that.  Low  neck,  short  sleeves !  I  've  got  the  neck 
and  arms  too,  you  bet " 

"Why  not  copy  it?"  Ora  was  full  of  enthusiasm  once 
more.  "You  can  do  it  here,  and  I  have  an  excellent  seam 
stress ' ' 

" Where 'd  I  wear  a  rig  like  that?  Even  if  I  made  it 
in  China  silk  and  Greg  took  me  anywheres,  I  couldn't. 
We  don't  go  in  for  real  low  necks  in  our  bunch." 

"But  surely  you'll  go  to  the  Junior  Prom?" 

Ida  opened  her  mouth  as  well  as  her  eyes.  ' c  The  Junior 
Prom?  I  never  thought  of  it.  Of  course  I'd  be  asked, 
Greg  being  in  the  Junior  Class  and  all " 

"Naturally." 

Ida  frowned.  "Well,  I  ain't  going.  I  said  I  wouldn't 
go  anywheres — to  any  swell  blowouts,  until  I'm  as  big  as 
anybody  there." 

"But  the  School  of  Mines  is  composed  of  young  men 
of  all  classes.  Each  asks  his  friends.  The  Prom  is  any 
thing  but  an  exclusive  affair.  You  go  out  to  the  Garden 
dances  on  Friday  nights  in  summer?" 

"Oh,  in  that  jam — and  everybody  wearing  their  suits, 
or  any  old  thing " 

"Well,  I  think  you  should  go  to  the  Prom.  Mr.  Comp- 
ton  is  the  star  pupil  in  the  School  of  Mines.  The  profes 
sors  talk  of  no  one  else.  I  rather  think  your  absence  would 
cause  comment." 

"Well— maybe  I'll  go.  I'd  like  to  all  right.  But  I 
can't  wear  low-neck.  I  guess  you  know  it  wouldn't  do." 

74 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       75 

"No  doubt  you  are  right."  Ora  made  no  attempt  at 
conversion;  it  was  encouraging  that  Ida  had  certain  in 
clinations  toward  good  taste,  even  if  they  were  prompted 
by  expediency. 

"Jimminy,  but  your  room's  pretty!"  exclaimed  Ida. 
"Mine's  pink — but  lawsy!" 

She  gazed  about  the  room,  which,  although  she  never  had 
seen  the  sea,  recalled  descriptions  of  its  shells  washed  by 
its  foam.  She  knit  her  brows.  "I  guess  it  takes  experi 
ence,  and  seein'  things,"  she  muttered.  Her  eyes  travelled 
to  the  little  bed  in  one  corner.  It  would  have  looked  like 
a  nun's,  so  narrow  and  inconspicuous  was  it,  had  it  not 
been  for  its  cover  of  pale  pink  satin  under  the  same 
filmy  lace. 

"Sakes  alive!"  she  exclaimed.  "Don't  you  sleep  with 
your  husband?" 

Ora  was  angry  to  feel  herself  coloring.  She  answered 
haughtily,  "We  have  separate  rooms.  It  is  the  custom — 
I  mean — I  have  always  seen " 

"I've  heard  it  was  the  stunt  among  swells,  but  I  don't 
hold  to  it.  It's  only  at  night  that  you've  really  got  a 
chance  to  know  where  a  man  is;  and  the  more  rope  you 
give  him  the  more  he'll  take.  What's  to  prevent  Mark 
slippin'  out  when  he  thinks  you're  asleep?  Or  coming 
home  any  old  time?  Besides,  some  men  talk  in  their 
sleep.  That  gives  you  another  hold.  I'm  always  hoping 
Greg  will,  as  he  talks  so  little  when  he's  awake.  You  bet 
your  life  he  never  gets  a  room  to  himself." 

"Poor  Mr.  Compton!"  thought  Ora.  "I  fancy  he'll  ex 
piate."  "Shall  we  go  down  stairs?"  she  asked.  "I  got 
my  portfolios  out  this  morning." 

She  tactfully  had  shown  Ida  her  wardrobe  first,  and 
the  guest  descended  to  the  library  in  high  good  humour. 
For  an  hour  they  hung  over  the  contents  of  the  Italian 
portfolios.  Ida  was  enchanted  with  the  castles  and  ruins, 
listened  eagerly  to  the  legends,  and  was  proud  of  her  own 
knowledge  of  the  horrors  enacted  in  the  Coliseum.  But 
over  the  photographs  of  the  masterpieces  in  the  Pitti  and 
the  Uffizi  she  frankly  yawned. 

"No  more  cross-eyed  saints,  and  fat  babies  and  shame 
less  sporting  women  in  mine,"  she  announced.  "Them 
virgins  sitting  on  thrones,  holding  four-year-olds  trying  to 
look  like  six  months,  make  me  tired. ' ' 


76       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Oh,  well,  I  fancy  you  must  see  the  old  masters  for 
the  first  time  in  their  proper  setting — and  wonderful 

colouring "  Ora  wondered  if  the  masterpieces  would 

appear  somewhat  overrated  to  herself  if  seen  for  the  first 
time  in  Butte.  It  certainly  was  interesting  to  watch  the 
effect  of  fixed  standards — or  superstitions — upon  an  un 
trained  but  remarkably  sharp  mind. 

uThat  Last  Supper  looks  like  they'd  been  eating  the 
paint,"  pursued  Ida. 

Ora  laughed.  "I  shan't  show  you  any  more  pictures  to 
day.  This  furniture  is  Italian— Florentine  and  Venetian. 
Let  me  tell  you  something  about  it." 

"I'd  like  to  see  all  your  rooms."  Ida  rose  and  stretched 
herself  luxuriously.  Ora  thought  she  looked  like  a  beauti 
ful  Persian  cat.  "Houses  interest  me  mor'n  pictures, 
although  I'll  buy  them  too  some  day.  Not  old  masters' 
though.  They'd  give  me  the  willys.  This  carved  oak  with 
faded  gilt  panels  is  a  dream!"  she  exclaimed  with  instant 
appreciation.  "I'd  learn  wood-carving  if  there  was  any 
one  in  this  God-forsaken  camp  to  teach  it." 

Ora  clapped  her  hands,  and  once  more  to  Ida's  startled 
eyes  she  looked  like  a  very  young  girl.  "I  studied  several 
of  the  crafts  when  I  was  in  Germany,"  she  cried,  "wood- 
carving,  brass-hammering,  enamelling.  I  '11  set  up  a  work 
shop—let  me  see,  the  attic  would  be  the  best  place,  and 
the  furnace  warms  it — and  teach  you,  and  work  myself. 
It's  just  what  I  need.  I  wonder  I  never  thought  of 

"Need  what?"  interrupted  Ida  sharply. 

"Oh,  a  relief  from  too  much  study.  There's  nothing 
like  a  craft  for  mental  workers — I  should  have  thought 
of  it  before,"  she  repeated.  "What  do  you  say?" 

"I'd  like  it  first  rate,  and  I  guess  you'll  find  me  quick 
enough  with  my  hands,  whatever  you  think  of  my  cocoa- 
nut." 

' '  I  think  very  highly  of  your  cocoanut.  This  is  my  lit 
tle  drawing-room." 

Ida  stood  on  the  threshold  for  a  few  moments  without 
comment.  She  had  never  cast  a  thought  to  her  Puritan 
inheritance,  but  anger,  disapproval,  possessed  her.  She 
hated  the  room,  but  had  no  reason  to  give. 

"You  don't  like  my  favourite  room?"  asked  Ora,  who 
was  watching  her  curiously. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       77 

"Is  it  your  favourite  room?"  She  turned  this  over. 
"No,  I  guess  I  like  the  heavy,  solid,  durable  things  best." 
She  struggled  for  her  reasons.  "You  get  your  money's 
worth  in  them.  This  looks  like  the  first  Chinook  would 
blow  it  clear  over  into  North  Dakota,  or  as  if  you  might 
come  in  some  morning  and  find  a  heap  of  dust  where  it 
had  been  the  night  before— like  a  corpse  when  the  air's 
let  in.  I  didn't  mind  your  bedroom  being  dainty  and 
looking  like  some  sea  shells  I  saw  once  in  a  picture  frame — 
it  looks  all  of  a  piece,  too,  you  might  say ;  but  this— with 
them  queer  thin  faded  out  chairs  and  sofas — the  colours  on 
the  wood  even,  and  them  pictures  over  the  doors  and 
mantel  look  like  they  would  do  the  final  disappearing  act 
while  you  wait — well,  there's  something  kinder  mysterious 
— ghostly — it  looks  so  stiff — and — at  the  same  time — so 
kinder  immoral " 

"I  wonder  if  what  you  are  groping  for  is  the  atmos 
phere  of  the  past,  which  all  old  furniture  must  have,  par 
ticularly  if  rearranged  in  something  like  its  original  set 
ting.  ' '  Ora  was  regarding  her  with  a  new  interest.  :  *  This 
furniture  came  out  of  a  hotel — what  we  would  call  a  resi 
dence — with  a  history — several  histories,  I  should  think— 
and  I  fancy  it  was  all  frivolous,  and  wicked,  and  excit 
ing " 

"  I  ain  't  no  spiritualist ! ' '  said  Ida  tartly.  ' '  Is  that  what 
you're  driving  at?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  was  thinking  of  occultism,  even," 
said  Ora  lightly.  "But  it  is  interesting  to  find  these  ^old 
things  have  atmosphere  for  you  as  well  as  for  me— 

"Why  is  it  your  favourite  room?  Because  it  has  'at 
mosphere'?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  doubt  if  I  have  ever  given  the  mat 
ter  a  thought." 

'So  this  is  your  favourite  room."  Ida  turned  her  back 
on  it.  "H'm.  Well,  maybe  I'll  understand  some  things 
better  one  of  these  days  than  I  do  now.  Perhaps,"  with 
one  of  her  uncanny  flashes  of  intuition,  "  I  '11  understand  it 
when  I  do  you." 

"Let  us  go  up  to  the  attic  and  look  it  over.  have 

the  table  and  benches  made  to-morrow. ':  Something  was 
moving  toward  expression  in  her  own  mind,  but  she  flung  it 
aside  and  ran  up  the  stair  followed  by  Ida,  who  dismissed 
the  subject  as  promptly. 


XII 

HHHERE  had  been  a  good  deal  of  haggling  over  the  lease 
of  the  Oro  Fino  Primo  mine,  the  engineers  demand 
ing  a  three  years '  lease  and  bond,  proposing  to  purchase  it 
at  the  end  of  that  period  for  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Nor 
were  they  willing  to  pay  more  than  ten  per  cent,  in  roy 
alty,  displaying  the  assay  report  on  the  ore  and  arguing 
that  after  the  necessary  outlay  on  development  work,  the 
ore  body  might  be  too  small  to  repay  them. 

Mark,  however,  was  determined  not  to  close  with  them 
until  he  had  visited  the  claim  with  Gregory  Compton,  and 
this  proved  to  be  impossible  for  several  weeks.  The  engi 
neers,  unable  to  proceed,  had  dismissed  their  men.  They 
threatened  to  withdraw  their  offer  and  look  for  another 
abandoned  property.  Mark  told  them  to  go  ahead,  and 
they  remained  in  Butte. 

In  the  course  of  a  month  Mark  and  Gregory  were  both 
free  on  a  Sunday.  They  took  a  train  for  Pony,  hired  a 
rig  and  drove  over  to  the  Stratton  claim,  dignified  by  the 
name  of  mine. 

The  claim  was  on  a  small  table-land  between  Gregory's 
own  hill,  which  terminated  just  beyond  the  borders  of  his 
ranch,  and  another  slope  covered  with  pines  and  firs. 
The  engineers  had  put  up  a  windlass,  retimbered  the 
shaft,  sunk  it  twenty  feet  lower,  and  added  a  pile  of  dirty 
looking  ore  to  the  original  half -obliterated  heap  about  the 
collar  of  the  shaft. 

Gregory  picked  up  half  a  dozen  pieces  of  various  sizes 
and  examined  them.  ' '  Their  assay  was  about  right,  I  should 
think,"  he  said.  "Looks  like  good  low  grade  ore,  but 
not  too  good.  It  will  do  no  harm  to  assay  it  myself,  how 
ever,"  and  he  dropped  the  sample  into  the  pocket  of  his 
coat.  Suddenly  he  gave  a  startled  exclamation,  and  Mark 
saw  his  nostrils  dilate,  his  nose  almost  point,  as  he  darted 
forward  and  kicked  aside  a  heap  of  loosely  piled  quartz, 

73 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       79 

Then  he  knelt  down  and  lifted  out  several  lumps  of  greyish- 
black  ore. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Mark  curiously,  and  feeling 
something  of  the  excitement  of  the  hunter  whose  gun  is 
trained  on  a  bear.  "D'you  mean  they've  found  copper 
glance  ? ' ' 

"At  a  depth  of  sixty  feet?  Not  exactly.  This  is  a  basic 
igneous  rock  called  pyroxenite,  that  may  not  be  rich  in 
gold  but  is  more  than  likely  to  be — particularly  as  our 
friends  have  hidden  it  so  carefully  and  said  nothing  about 
it.  It  may  assay  anywhere  from  ten  dollars  a  ton  to  five 
hundred.  I'm  going  down." 

The  shaft  was  inclined,  four  by  eight,  and  timbered 
with  lagging.  Gregory  lit  the  candle  he  had  brought  and 
descended  the  ladder.  He  remained  below  about  ten  min 
utes  ;  when  he  returned  to  the  surface  he  was  excited  and 
triumphant. 

"They've  begun  to  drift  on  the  vein,"  he  announced. 
"They've  gone  about  three  feet — it  must  have  been  then 
they  learned  the  history  of  the  claim.  It's  pyroxenite  all 
right,  every  inch  of  it." 

"Well,  damn  them!"  said  Mark. 

"They  can't  plead  that  they  didn't  recognise  the  ore, 
uncommon  as  it  is,  because  they  began  to  drift  the  moment 
they  struck  the  vein.  It  dips  toward  the  ranch,"  he 
added  abruptly. 

Mark  whistled.  "It's  pretty  close.  That  would  be  a 
kettle  of  fish— if  it  apexed  on  your  land!  Lawsuit. 
Friendship  of  a  life-time  broken.  The  beautiful  Mrs.  Mark 
Blake  brings  suit  against  the  now  famous  Gregory  Comp- 
ton " 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  said  Gregory  shortly.  But  he  was 
disturbed  nevertheless. 

"But  there's  no  nonsense  in  the  idea  that  your  own 
ore  bodies  may  be  just  over  the  border.  Why  don't  you 
sink  a  shaft,  just  for  nuts." 

Gregory,  who  was  still  excited,  felt  an  impulse  to  con 
fide  his  discovery  to  his  friend.  But  his  natural  secretive- 
ness  overcame  him  and  he  turned  abruptly  away.  "When 
I  have  finished  at  the  School,"  he  said,  "no  doubt  I'll  be 
gin  gophering  again,  but  not  before.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  this?  Let  them  have  it?" 

"I'll  let  them  have  a  piece  of  my  mind  first.    What  do 


80      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

you  advise?— that  I  work  the  mine,  myself?    I  could  easily 
form  a  company  if  the  ore  is  as  rich  as  you  think. ' ' 

"I  wouldn't  take  the  chances.  Lease  the  claim  to  them 
for  a  year.  They'll  take  it  for  that  time  with  all  this  ore 
in  sight.  If  they've  hit  a  large  chamber  they'll  soon  be 
netting  several  thousand  dollars  a  day.  If  it's  only  a 
pocket,  let  them  find  it  out.  At  the  end  of  a  year  you'll 
know  a  good  deal  more  about  the  mine  than  you  do  now. 
But  keep  an  eye  on  them  so  that  they  don't  gouge,  and 
make  them  pay  you  twenty  per  cent,  royalty. " 

' They '11  pay  it  through  the  nose,"  said  Mark  emphati 
cally. 

Gregory  laughed.  "You  feel  as  virtuously  indignant 
as  if  you  had  never  tried  to  do  anybody  yourself.  It's 
do  or  be  done  out  West  as  well  as  back  East,  and  precious 
few  mines  have  a  clean  history.  Marcus  Daly  never  would 
have  got  the  best  part  of  Butte  Hill  if  he  hadn't  kept  his 
mouth  shut." 

"It  isn't  that  I'm  so  virtuous,"  said  Mark  ingenuously, 
"but  I  don't  like  the  idea  that  anybody  so  nearly  got  the 
best  of  me.  And  just  look  at  the  way  they  covered  it  up. ' ' 

Gregory  had  kicked  aside  the  greater  part  of  a  pile 
of  grey  ore,  and  revealed  quite  a  hillock  of  the  pyroxenite. 
He  put  several  pieces  in  his  pocket,  discarding  the  first 
specimens.  "I'll  get  to  work  on  this  to-night,"  he  said, 
"and  let  you  know  first  thing  in  the  morning.  But  I'm 
willing  to  wager  that  it  runs  from  sixty  to  a  hundred  dol 
lars  a  ton." 

"And  not  a  fleck  of  gold  to  be  seen!"  Mark,  who,  like 
all  intelligent  men  of  mining  localities,  had  some  knowl 
edge  of  ores,  examined  the  dark  rock  attentively.  "They're 
some  geologists,"  he  added  with  unwilling  admiration. 
"This  would  fool  any  ordinary  mining  engineer.  Say!" 
he  cried,  "I'll  not  tell  Ora  until  she's  ready  to  leave— she's 
figuring  on  going  to  Europe  in  the  fall.  It  will  be  the 
surprise  of  her  life,  for  I  led  her  to  think  she'd  get  only 
a  hundred  or  so  a  month.  Don't  say  a  word  about  it  to 
Ida." 

Gregory  turned  away  to  hide  a  curl  of  his  lip.  "I  sup 
pose  we'd  better  go  over  and  see  Oakley,  as  we're  so  close," 
he  said.  "He'll  probably  talk  for  an  hour  on  his  hobby, 
but  any  knowledge  comes  in  useful  to  a  lawyer." 

"•What's  he  done." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       81 

"He  figured  out  that  Iowa  and  the  Dakotas  and  Kansas 
were  likely  to  have  a  drought  next  year,  so  he  will  sow 
about  five  hundred  acres  with  flax  in  May.  He  has  already 
put  in  about  three  hundred  acres  of  winter  wheat.  The 
bottoms  are  reserved  for  alfalfa.  He  raises  the  capital 
and  gets  half  profits.  If  it  turns  out  as  he  expects  he'll 
have  something  at  the  end  of  a  year  to  live  on  besides  en 
thusiasm  for  intensive  farming." 

They  were  driving  toward  Pony  two  hours  later  when 
Gregory  said  abruptly,  "I'm  glad  that  your  wife  and  mine 
have  taken  to  each  other.  It  is  a  great  thing  for  Ida.  The 
improvement  is  wonderful. ' '  He  forebore  to  add,  even  to 
the  man  who  had  known  his  wife  since  childhood,  "I  don't 
see  what  Mrs.  Blake  gets  out  it,"  but  possibly  the  irrepres 
sible  thought  flew  into  Mark's  mind,  for  he  replied 
promptly : 

"It's  great  for  Ora.  She's  tired  of  everybody  else  here ; 
tired  of  so  much  reading  too.  I  've  seen  that  for  some  time, 
though  I  haven't  let  on.  A  new  interest  was  just  what 
she  wanted.  Every  clever  woman  has  a  touch  of  the  school 
ma'am  in  her,  and  no  one  can  deny  that  Ida's  refreshing. 
To  Ora  she's  almost  a  novelty.  I  think  she  rather  hates  to 
make  her  over,  but  she's  working  on  her  as  hard  as  I 
work  on  a  case.  Ora's  the  thorough  sort.  What  she  does 
is  done  with  all  her  might  and  main.  Otherwise  she  don't 
do  it  at  all.  She's  equally  accomplished  at  that!" 

He  decided  that  this  was  the  propitious  moment ;  Greg 
ory  was  in  an  uncommonly  melting  mood,  for  him.  ' '  Say ! ' ' 
he  continued,  "Ora  and  I  have  put  up  a  little  job  on  you. 
I  Ve  told  her  to  take  her  new  money  and  go  to  Europe  for 
six  months  or  so — By  James,  she  shall  go,  even  if  this 
thing  hangs  fire  and  I  have  to  sell  some  stock.  It's  over 
six  years  since  she's  seen  Europe,  and  I  guess  she  pines 
for  it  all  right.  Well,  she  wants  to  take  Ida." 

Gregory  demanded  with  unexpected  promptness,  "How 
much  would  it  cost?" 

' '  Oh,  about  a  hundred  to  New  York  and  a  hundred  and 
fifty  over,"  said  Mark  vaguely.  "Of  course  when  two  are 
together  it  costs  less.  And  in  Europe  distances  are  short. 
Ora  says  she  shall  go  to  pensions  instead  of  hotels,  if  only 
because  they  would  be  two  young  women  alone;  and  they 
cost  much  less.  They  can  also  travel  second-class,  and 


82       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

third  in  Germany  and  Switzerland.  Ora  says  she  and  her 
friends  always  did  it  in  summer  because  it  was  cooler  and 
more  interesting.  She's  sent  for  a  lot  of  Baedekers,  is 
going  to  make  a  close  estimate,  then  double  it." 

"One  of  my  aunts  died  the  other  day  and  left  me  a 
thousand  dollars ;  she  had  no  family.  Ida  can  have  it.  Of 
course  I  could  send  her  more  if  she  needed  it,  but  she's 
clever  with  money." 

"That  will  do  it."  (He  knew  that  if  it  did  not  Ora, 
who  would  pay  the  bills,  would  manage  to  hoodwink  Ida.) 
"And  you  must  live  with  me.  It'll  be  fine.  Bachelor's 
Hall.  We'll  do  as  we  damn  please." 

Gregory  shook  hands  with  him,  his  strong  hard  face 
illuminated  with  the  infrequent  smile  that  gave  it  some 
thing  of  a  sweet  woman's  charm.  "Thanks,  old  man,"  he 
said  fervently.  "Sounds  good!" 


XIII 

C  EVERAL  weeks  passed  before  Ora  sent  for  Miss  Ruby 
•^  Miller.  She  was  busier  during  those  weeks  than  she 
had  been  for  many  months.  Ida  came  every  other  day  at 
one  o'clock  and  remained  until  five.  They  carved  wood  in 
the  attic,  and  looked  at  pictures  or  read  in  the  library 
during  the  hour  and  a  half  that  included  tea.  Ida  con 
fessed  that  during  the  latter  interval  she  was  so  bored 
sometimes  she  could  scream,  but  added  that  she  would 
stick  it  out  if  she  yawned  every  tooth  in  her  head  loose. 
One  thing  that  never  bored  her  was  the  picture  of  Ora— 
her  working  blouse  changed  for  a  dainty  house  gown — - 
presiding  at  the  tea-table.  She  studied  every  detail,  every 
gesture;  she  even  cultivated  a  taste  for  tea,  which  hereto 
fore  she  had  regarded  as  fit  for  invalids  only,  like  jellies 
and  cup-custard. 

Ora's  alternate  days  and  many  of  her  evenings  were 
filled  with  social  duties.  Butte  was  indulging  in  one  of 
its  hurricanes  of  festivity.  Mrs.  O'Hagan,  who  lived  in 
the  largest  and  finest  house  on  the  West  Side,  gave  a, 
series  of  dinner  dances.  Mrs.  Burke,  who  owned  the  big 
ugly  red  house  of  appalling  architecture  built  by  Judge 
Stratton  in  the  eighties,  gave  several  entertainments  in 
honour  of  two  young  visitors  from  Denver.  Mrs.  Magin- 
nis,  who  lived  in  another  palatial  residence  far  west  and 
far  from  the  old  Stratton  house — which  in  its  day  had  ex 
pressed  the  extreme  limit  of  the  city,  as  of  fashion— gave  a 
ball  as  brilliant  as  anything  Ora  had  seen  in  a  distant 
hemisphere.  Flowers  may  be  scarce  in  Butte,  but  flowers 
and  palms  may  be  imported  by  the  carload  from  Helena, 
and  the  large  rooms  looked  like  an  oasis  in  the  grey  desert 
of  Butte.  Every  woman  wore  a  ball  gown  made  by  some 
one  of  the  great  reiterative  masters,  and  there  were  no 
wall  flowers;  for,  although  the  tango  had  not  yet  set  the 
whole  world  dancing,  the  women  of  Montana  never  had  in 
terpreted  grey  hairs  as  a  signal  to  retire. 


84       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

It  was  on  the  day  after  this  ball  that  Ora  had  telephoned 
to  Miss  Miller.  "Can  you  give  me  an  hour  or  two  to 
morrow?"  she  asked. 

"Sure.  Can  I  come  early?  I've  got  fourteen  heads  to 
dress  for  the  Cameron  ball,  and  most  of  them  want  a 
facial  too?" 

"A  what?" 


massage,  and  touchin'  up  generally." 

"It's  fine.  Makes  you  feel  as  good  as  you  look.  What 
did  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Oh,  shampoo  my  hair.  I  want  to  consult  you  about  it, 
too  —  and  manicure." 

"Well,  I'll  bring  the  creams  along,  and  if  you  want  a 
massage  I  '11  be  ready.  '  ' 

Ora  had  succeeded  in  making  Miss  Miller  propose  what 
she  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  to  try,  and  she  rang  off 
with  a  smile.  The  evening  before  she  had  thought  herself 
the  plainest  woman  at  the  party,  and  the  effect  of  this 
discouraging  conclusion  had  been  to  kill  her  animation 
and  sag  her  shoulders  until  she  knew  she  must  look  as 
dowdy  as  she  felt.  For  the  first  time  she  realised  how  a 
blighted  vanity  may  demoralise  the  proudest  intellect.  It 
was  time  to  get  a  move  on,  as  her  new  but  rapidly  develop 
ing  friend  would  put  it. 

Ora  was  very  proud  of  her  work.  She  gave  Professor 
Whalen  due  credit,  and  knew  that  Ida  toiled  at  her  exer 
cises,  but  doubted  if  the  uninspiring  pedant  would  have 
been  retained  had  it  not  been  for  the  sense  of  emulation, 
slightly  tinctured  by  jealousy,  she  managed  to  rouse  in  her 
new  boon  companion  when  they  were  together.  But  Ida 
was  now  exercising  something  of  her  latent  force  of  charac 
ter,  determined  to  make  the  most  of  advantages  for  which 
she  knew  many  a  sudden-rich  woman  would  "give  her  eye 
teeth."  She  would  polish  up  "good  and  plenty"  before 
her  husband  made  his  strike  ;  and  waste  no  precious  time 
on  the  inside  of  her  skull  when  she  had  the  cash  to  spend 
on  its  outside. 

After  the  first  week  she  dropped  no  more  g's,  her  gram 
mar  rapidly  improved,  and  although  she  never  would  be 
a  stylist,  nor  altogether  forswear  slang,  not  only  because 
the  ready-made  phrase  appealed  to  her  unliterary  mind 
but  because  its  use  was  ingrained,  she  reserved  it  more  and 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       85 

more  for  those  that  best  could  appreciate  it.  As  it  an 
noyed  Professor  Whalen  excessively,  she  went  afield  for 
new  phrases  "for  the  fun  of  seeing  him  wriggle. " 

On  the  other  hand,  whenever  she  felt  in  the  mood,  she 
gazed  at  him  with  penitent  languid  eyes,  promised  never 
to  use  slang  again,  and  amused  herself  racking  other 
nerves.  She  knew  just  how  far  to  go  and  "turned  him 
off/'  or  "switched  him  back  on  to  the  track"  before  any 
real  harm  was  done.  Some  day  she  might  let  him  make 
a  scene  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  but  not  until  she 
was  "good  and  ready." 

Her  feeling  for  Ora  was  more  difficult  to  define.  Some 
times  she  almost  loved  her,  not  only  inspired  by  gratitude, 
but  because  Ora's  personal  magnetism  was  intensified  by 
every  charm  of  refinement,  vivacity,  mental  development, 
as  well  as  by  a  broad  outlook  on  life  and  a  sweetness  of 
manner  which  never  infuriated  her  by  becoming  con 
sciously  gracious.  At  other  times  she  hated  her,  for  she 
knew  that  no  such  combination  ever  could  be  hers.  Ora 
was  a  patrician  bom  of  patricians.  She  might  go  to  the 
devil,  preside  over  one  of  the  resorts  down  on  The  Flat, 
take  to  drink  and  every  evil  way,  and  still  would  she  be 
patrician.  Herself  might  step  into  millions  and  carry  her 
unsullied  virtue  to  her  grave  and  she  never  would  be  the 
1 '  real  thing. ' '  For  the  first  time  she  understood  that  being 
"a  lady"  had  little  to  do  with  morals  or  behaviour.  Noth 
ing  irritates  the  complacent  American  more  than  the  sud 
den  appreciation  of  this  fact. 

"But  I  guess  I'll  be  as  good  as  some  others,"  Ida  con 
soled  herself.  "After  all,  I  don't  see  so  many  Ora  Blakes 
lying  round  loose.  People  don't  bother  much  these  days 
if  your  clothes  make  their  mouth  water  and  your  grammar 
don't  queer  you." 

Gregory,  when  he  had  time  to  think  about  it — he  read 
even  at  the  breakfast  and  dinner-table,  and  had  an  assay 
plant  in  the  cellar — was  charmed  with  her  improvement, 
and  told  her  abruptly  one  day  that  if  she  kept  faithfully 
to  her  tasks  until  November  he  would  give  her  the  thou 
sand  dollars  he  had  received  under  the  will  of  his  aunt. 
"And  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  it,"  he  added, 
shan't  ask  you.  That's  the  way  I  enjoyed  money  when  I 
was  a  kid,  and  I  guess  women  are  much  the  same. ' ' 

"A  thousand  dollars!"    Ida  was  rigid,  her  mouth  open. 


86      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL1 

"Geewhil— I  beg  pardon— My!  But  you  are  good!"  She 
paused  to  rearrange  her  thoughts,  which  were  in  danger 
of  flying  off  into  language  her  husband  was  paying  to 
remodel.  "Can  I  really  do  anything  with  it  I  like?" 

"You  can."  He  smiled  at  her  bright  wide-open  eyes 
and  flaming  cheeks. 

"I  ain't — haven't  said  anything  about  it  as  I  didn't 
think  it  would  be  any  sort  of  use,  but  Ora  is  going  to 
Europe  in  the  fall,  and  she  told  me  Mark  was  going  to 
try  to  persuade  you  to  let  me  go  with  her.  Now  I  can  go 
on  my  thousand  dollars,  if  you  don't  mind.  Mark  wants 
you  to  stay  with  him." 

"He  spoke  to  me  about  it — I  had  forgotten.  There 
couldn't  be  a  better  arrangement.  This  is  the  time  for  you 
to^go  to  Europe— while  your  mind  is  still  plastic." 

:'You  don't  seem  to  mind  my  going  a  little  bit."  Rap 
ture  gave  place  to  suspicion.  Ida  was  not  born  with  faith 
in  man. 

"My  dear  child!  What  good  am  I  to  you  now?  You 
might  be  keeping  house  for  a  deaf  mute.  All  I  need  is  the 
right  kind  of  food  and  a  comfortable  bed.  I'll  get  both  at 
Mark's.  Next  year  you  would  see  even  less  of  me  than 
you  do  now.  We  get  our  last  and  most  practical  drilling 
in  ore-dressing,  metallurgy,  power-utilisation,  and  geology. 
We  shall  be  off  half  the  time  on  geological  expeditions, 
visits  to  mines  in  other  parts  of  the  state,  smelters,  the 
most  up-to-date  of  the  cyanide  mills.  So  you  see  how 
much  I  shall  be  at  home.  Go  to  Europe  and  enjoy  your- 
selx. 

' '  All  right.  I  '11  go.  You  bet.  And  I  '11  not  miss  a  trick. 
There'll  never  be  a  thousand  doUars  better  spent." 


XIV 

"MOW  I've  got  you  where  I  want  you,  and  I'm  goin'  to 
•^    talk — goin'  to  say  something  I've  been  dyin'  to  say 
for  two  or  three  years." 

Ora's  head  was  in  the  wash-basin.  Miss  Miller  was 
leisurely  spraying  out  the  lime  juice  with  which  she  had 
drenched  her  hair.  Ora  gasped,  then  gurgled  something 
unintelligible,  which  Miss  Ruby  interpreted  as  encourage 
ment  to  proceed.  Mrs.  Blake's  manner  ever  since  the  hair 
dresser  's  arrival  had  been  uncommonly  winning,  with  some 
thing  half-appealing,  half-confiding  that  flew  straight  not 
only  to  that  experienced  young  woman's  sympathies  but  to 
her  professional  instinct. 

"It's  this,"  she  continued.  "You  need  a  thorough 
overhauling.  In  these  days,  particularly  in  this  altitude, 
women  take  care  of  themselves  as  they  go  along,  but  you 
don't.  You've  lost  your  complexion  ridin'  and  walkin'  for 
hours  without  a  veil,  sometimes  without  a  hat,  and  you 
with  a  delicate  skin  like  a  baby's  and  not  even  using 
creams.  I  heard  a  man  say  only  last  Sunday — I  was 
givin'  his  wife  a  facial  and  he  was  sittin'  round — that  it 
was  an  awful  pity  you  had  gone  off  so,  as  you  were  the 
prettiest  thing  he  ever  laid  eyes  on  when  you  came  back 
after  your  pa's  death,  and  if  Mark — Mr.  Blake — hadn't 
snapped  you  up  before  any  other  young  man  got  a  look 
at  you  you'd  have  had  a  dozen  chances,  for  all  you've  got 
such  a  reputation  for  brains.  (A  man  can  stand  brains  in 
a  white  lily  of  a  girl,'  says  he,  'but  when  she  gets  older 
she's  either  got  to  keep  her  complexion  or  cut  out  the 
brains,  and  Ora  Blake's  done  neither' — Say  if  you  squirm 
like  that  you'll  get  your  mouth  and  eyes  full  of  lemon. 
His  wife  said  she  didn't  believe  men  cared  for  them  thin 
white  women  anyway — she's  bustin'  with  health  herself — 
and  he  gave  a  grunt  that  means  a  lot  to  a  girl  who  knows 
men  like  I  do.  You  never  did  make  anything  of  yourself 
and  you've  let  yourself  go  these  last  two  or  three  years 

87 


88      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

something  shameful.  If  you'd  take  yourself  in  hand,  get 
on  to  yourself  once  for  all,  you'd  have  people  twistin'  their 
necks  off  to  look  at  you  and  callin'  you  a  Mariposa  lily,  or 
a  -Princess  Pine,  or  a  White  Gladiolus  and  other  poetry 
names  like  that.  And  you  could  get  the  reputation  of  a 
beauty  all  right.  It  makes  me  sick." 

"Could  you  make  me  into  a  beauty?"  Ora's  voice  was 
remarkably  languid  considering  the  flaming  hue  of  her 
face,  which,  however,  may  have  been  due  to  its  prolonged 
sojourn  in  the  wash-basin.  Miss  Miller  had  wrung  her 
hair  out  and  was  rubbing  it  vigorously. 

"Couldn't  I  just?" 

As  Mrs.  Blake  maintained  a  dignified  silence,  Miss  Ruby 
proceeded  to  develop  her  theme.  "Now,  your  hair,  for 
instance.  That's  the  reason  I  used  lemon  today.  You've 
been  usin'  soap,  and,  what  with  this  dry  climate,  and  no 
care,  it's  as  harsh  and  broken  as  if  you'd  been  usin'  soda 
on  it  every  day.  It's  lemon  and  hot  water  for  you,  first, 
last  and  always,  and  eggs  after  a  journey.  It  needs  a 
couple  of  months  of  hand-massage  every  other  day  right 
now;  after  that  it  will  be  up  to  you.  Brush  it  night  and 
morning  and  use  a  tonic  twice  a  year. ' ' 

She  paused  and  Ora  waited  with  eyes  closed  to  conceal 
her  impatience.  Finally  she  opened  them  irresistibly  and 
met  Miss  Ruby's  in  the  mirror.  They,  too,  looked  em 
barrassed.  Ora's  smile  was  spontaneous  and  sweet  and  not 
too  frequent.  It  seldom  failed  to  melt  reserve  and  inspire 
confidence.  She  played  this  card  without  delay. 

"Why  don't  you  go  on?"  she  asked.  "All  that  is  most 
interesting  and  valuable.  I  shall  remember  every  word 
of  it." 

"Well— I  was  afraid  that  what  I  want  to  say  most  might 
sound  as  if  I  was  drummin'  up  trade,  and  the  Lord  knows 
I've  got  more  to  do  than  I  could  manage  if  there  was  ten 
days  in  every  week.  I  turned  down  two  ladies  today  to 
come  here.  I  never  shampoo  the  day  of  a  ball." 

"My  dear  Miss  Miller!  You  are  an  artist,  and  like  all 
artists,  you  not  only  aim  at  perfection  yourself  but  your 
eyes  and  fingers  ache  at  imperfection.  I  suppose  an  author 
rewrites  sentences  as  he  reads  them,  and  painters  must 
long  to  repaint  every  picture  they  see.  As  for  you — we 
are  your  page  and  canvas,  and  naturally  we  have  the  good 
fortune  to  interest  you. ' ' 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       89 

"That's  it!"  cried  Miss  Ruby,  glowing.  "That's  the 
size  of  it,  only  I  couldn't  ever  say  it  like  that.  Well,  now, 
if  you  want  this  skin  to  look  like  a  complexion  and  not  like 
a  hide,  I've  got  to  give  you  a  massage  every  third  day  for 
quite  a  while.  It  not  only  needs  creams  and  cold  applica 
tions — hot  only  once  in  a  while — but  an  awful  lot  of  hand 
massage.  It 's  all  run  down  and  needs  stimulating  the  worst 
way.  Another  year  and  you'd  be  bavin'  lines.  You  can't 
leave  yourself  to  nature  up  here.  She's  in  too  great  a 
hurry  to  take  back  what  she  gave.  And  you  must  cut  out 
hot  breads  and  trash  and  wear  a  veil  when  you  go  out  in 
the  sun  and  wind.  And  you  go  to  Boulder  Springs  once  a 
week  and  take  a  vapour  bath." 

"But  I'll  always  look  washed-out." 

"Not  if  you  look  fresh,  and  wear  colours  that  suit  you." 

"And  I  never  was  called  a  beauty.  That  man,  whoever 
he  was,  merely  remembered  the  usual  prettiness  of  youth. 
Every  young  girl  is  pretty  unless  she  is  ugly." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  didn't  take  enough  pains  to  make 
people  think  you  were  a  beauty.  Some — Ida  Compton,  for 
instance — don't  need  to  do  anything  but  just  show  them 
selves.  Any  fool — particularly  a  man — can  see  black  hair 
and  red  and  white  skin,  and  meltin'  eyes,  and  lashes  a 
yard  long,  and  a  dashin'  figure.  But  odd  and  refined 
types  like  you — well,  you've  got  to  help  it  out." 

"How  very  interesting!  Do  you  mean  I  must  go  about 
telling  people  that  I  am  really  beautiful,  if  they  will  only 
look  at  me  long  enough  ?  Or — possibly— do  you  mean  that 
I  should  make  up?" 

"I  don't  mean  either,  'though  in  a  way  I  mean  both. 
In  the  first  place  you've  got  to  make  the  most  of  your 
points.  You  're  not  a  red  blonde  or  a  gold  blonde,  but  what 
the  French  call  sendray ;  in  plain  English,  you  've  got  ash- 
coloured  hair.  Now,  that  makes  the  blondest  kind  of 
blonde,  but  at  the  same  time  it's  not  so  common,  and 
nature  has  to  give  it  to  you.  Art  can't.  What  you  want 
to  do  is  to  let  people  see  that  your  colouring  is  so  rare 
that  you  can't  get  enough  of  it  yourself,  and  by  and  by 
people  will  think  they  can't  either.  You've  been  wearin' 
all  this  hair  twisted  into  a  hard  knot  down  on  your  neck. 
That  don't  show  off  the  hair  and  don't  suit  your  face, 
which  is  kinder  square.  I'm  goin'  to  pull  it  soft  about 
your  face  and  ears  and  then  coil  it  softly  on  top  of  your 


90       PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

head.  That'll  give  length  to  your  face,  and  look  as  if  you 
was  proud  of  your  hair — which  you  will  be  in  a  month  or 
two.  You  mustn't  pay  too  much  attention  to  the  style  of 
the  moment.  You're  the  sort  to  have  a  style  of  your  own 
and  stick  to  it." 

"I'm  in  your  hands1/'  murmured  Ora.     "What  next?" 

"Did  you  really  lose  interest  in  yourself?"  asked  Miss 
Miller  curiously,  and  with  the  fine  freedom  of  the  West 
from  class  restraint.  '  *  Or  didn  't  you  ever  have  any  ? ' ' 

"A  little  of  both.  When  I  was  a  girl  I  was  a  frightful 
pedant — and — Oh,  well — Butte  is  not  Europe,  and  I  took 
refuge  more  than  ever  in  books,  particularly  as  I  could 
have  nothing  of  the  other  arts.  You  know  the  resources  of 
Butte!" 

"I'm  glad  you're  goin'  to  Europe  again,  where  I  guess 
all  kinds  of  variety  are  on  tap. — Say,  perhaps  you'll  find 
out  all  the  new  kinks  for  the  complexion  in  Paris,  and  tell 
me  when  you  come  back." 

"I  will  indeed!" 

"I  don't  hold  to  rippin'  the  skin  off,  or  hoistin'  it  up," 
said  Miss  Miller  firmly.  ' '  All  any  skin  needs  is  steady  treat 
ment,  and  constant  care — constant,  mind  you,  and  never 
forget  it.  Now  there's  your  profile.  It's  grand.  The  way 
I'm  goin'  to  fix  your  hair '11  show  it  off,  and  don't  you  let 
it  get  scooped  round  the  eyes,  like  so  many  women  do. 
Massage '11  prevent  that.  I  wish  your  eyebrows  and  lashes 
was  black,  like  so  many  heroines  in  novels  has.  The  con 
trast  would  be  fine.  But  brown '11  do,  and  I  guess  the  nat 
ural  is  your  lay.  Luckily  them  black  grey  eyes  is  a  high 
note,  and  when  you  get  your  lips  real  red,  you'll  have  all 
the  colour  your  style  can  carry.  The  gleamin '  white  skin  '11 
do  the  rest." 

"How  am  I  to  get  red  lips,  and  what's  to  make  my  skin 
gleam?" 

"You're  anaemic.  You  go  to  a  doctor  and  get  a  tonic 
right  off.  When  I  get  through  with  your  complexion  it'll 
gleam  all  right.  No  powder  for  you.  It  improves  most 
women,  but  you  want  high  lights.  I  don't  mean  shine 
when  I  say  gleam,  either.  I  mean  that  you've  got  the 
kind  of  skin  that  when  the  tan's  off  and  it's  toned  up  and 
is  in  perfect  condition  (you've  got  to  be  that  inside,  too), 
sheds  a  sort  of  white  light.  It's  the  rarest  kind,  and  I 
guess  it  does  the  most  damage." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       91 

"And  what  good  is  all  this  beautifying  to  do  me?  And 
why  make  me  dangerous  ?  Surely  you  are  not  counselling 
that  I  begin  a  predatory  raid  on  other  women's  husbands, 
or  even,  on  the  'brownies'?" 

"Well,  I  guess  not.  I  don't  approve  of  married  women 
lettin '  men  make  love  to  them,  but  I  do  believe  in  a  woman 
makin'  the  most  of  herself  and  gettin'  all  the  admiration 
that's  comin'  to  her.  If  you  can  be  a  beauty,  for  the  Lord 
Almighty's  sake  be  one.  Believe  me,  it'll  make  life  seem 
as  if  it  had  a  lot  more  to  it." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder!" 

"And  you  go  in  right  off  for  deep  breathin'  and  Swedish 
exercises  night  and  mornin'.  It's  the  style  to  be  thin,  but 
you  want  to  develop  yourself  more.  And  they  keep  you 
limber — don't  forget  that.  When  a  woman  stiffens  up 
she's  done  for.  Might  as  well  get  fat  round  her  waist. 
Now  shut  your  eyes,  I'm  goin'  to  massage." 


XV 

"T  WONDER!"  thought  Ora,  "I  wonder!" 

•*•  It  was  some  four  months  after  her  first  seance  with 
Miss  Ruby  Miller.  There  was  no  question  of  the  improve 
ment  in  her  looks,  owing,  perhaps,  as  much  to  a  new  self- 
confidence  as  to  the  becoming  arrangement  of  her  hair 
and  the  improved  tint  and  texture  of  her  skin.  The  tonic 
and  a  less  reckless  diet  had  also  done  their  work ;  her  eyes 
were  even  brighter,  her  lips  pink.  Moreover,  it  was  patent 
that  the  sudden  reformation  was  as  obvious  to  Butte  as  to 
herself.  Women  confessed  to  a  previous  fear  that  the 
"altitude  had  got  on  her  nerves  or  something";  as  for 
the  men,  they  may  or  may  not  have  observed  the  more 
direct  results  of  Miss  Miller's  manipulations,  but  it  was 
not  open  to  doubt  that  her  new  interest  in  herself  had 
revived  her  magnetism  and  possibly  doubled  it. 

Ora  turned  from  the  mirror  in  her  bedroom,  where  she 
had  been  regarding  her  convalescing  beauty  with  a  puzzled 
frown,  and  stared  down  at  the  rough  red  dirt  of  her  half- 
finished  street — she  lived  far  to  the  west.  Her  eyes  trav 
elled  up  to  the  rough  elevation  upon  which  stood  the 
School  of  Mines  in  its  lonely  splendour,  then  down  to  the 
rough  and  dreary  Flat.  It  stretched  far  to  the  south,  a 
hideous  expanse,  with  its  dusty  cemetery,  its  uninviting 
but  not  neglected  road  houses,  its  wide  section  given  over 
to  humble  dwellings,  with  here  and  there  a  house  of  more 
pretensions,  but  little  more  beauty.  It  was  in  one  of  these 
last,  no  doubt,  that  her  father  had  kept  his  mistress,  whose 
children,  she  was  vaguely  aware,  attended  the  public 
schools  under  his  name.  These  houses,  large  and  small, 
were  crowded  together  as  if  pathetically  conscious  that 
the  human  element  must  be  their  all,  in  that  sandy,  tree 
less,  greenless  waste. 

There  was  something  pathetic,  altogether,  thought  Ora, 
in  the  bright  eagerness  with  which  even  the  wealthy  class 
made  the  most  of  their  little  all.  They  were  so  proud  of 

92 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       93 

Columbia  Gardens,  a  happy-go-lucky  jumble  of  architec 
tures  and  a  few  young  trees,  a  fine  conservatory  and  obese 
pansies  on  green  checkers  of  lawn ;  they  patronised  its 
Casino  so  conscientiously  on  Friday  nights  when  the 
weather  would  permit.  During  the  winter,  they  skated 
on  their  shingled  puddle  down  on  The  Flat  as  merrily 
and  thankfully  as  though  it  were  the  West  End  of  Lon 
don  or  one  of  the  beautiful  lakes  in  one  of  the  beautiful 
German  "gartens."  They  motored  about  the  hideous  en 
virons,  and  hung  out  of  the  car  to  emphasise  their  rapture 
at  the  lonely  tree  or  patch  of  timid  verdure;  they  enter 
tained  royally  in  their  little  Club  House,  out  in  another 
desolate  waste,  or  played  golf  without  envy  or  malice.  In 
short  they  resolutely  made  the  most  of  Butte  when  they 
were  in  it ;  they  patted  Butte  and  themselves  on  the  back 
daily ;  they  loved  it  and  they  were  loyal  to  it  and  they  got 
out  of  it  as  often  as  they  possibly  could. 

"And  I!"  thought  Ora,  with  a  sense  of  panic.  "I,  who 
will  probably  get  away  every  five  years  or  so — what  am 
I  waking  up  for — to  what  end  ?  I  wonder ! ' ' 

She  walked  slowly  downstairs  and,  avoiding  the  little 
French  drawing-room,  went  into  the  library  and  sat  down 
among  her  books.  Sash  curtains  of  a  pale  canary  colour 
shut  out  the  rough  vacant  lots  and  ugly  dwellings  above 
her  home,  and  cast  a  mellow  glow  over  the  brown  walls  and 
rows  of  calf-bound  books.  Judge  Stratton  had  read  in 
four  modern  languages  and  two  dead  ones.  The  love  of 
reading,  of  long  evenings  alone  in  his  deserted  "man 
sion,"  had  been  as  striking  a  characteristic  of  his  many- 
sided  ego  as  his  contempt  for  moral  standards.  Ora,  who 
had  grown  into  a  slow  but  fairly  thorough  knowledge  of 
her  father's  life  and  character,  permitted  her  thoughts  to 
flow  freely  this  afternoon  and  to  speculate  upon  what  her 
life  might  have  been  had  Judge  Stratton  been  as  upright 
as  he  was  intellectually  gifted;  if  her  mother  had  pos 
sessed  the  brains  or  charm  to  keep  him  ensnared;  if  she 
herself  had  been  left,  an  orphan  at  twenty,  with  the  for 
tune  she  inevitably  would  have  inherited  had  her  father 
behaved  himself — instead  of  finding  herself  penniless, 
ignorant  of  all  practical  knowledge,  a  querulous  invalid  on 
her  hands,  her  only  suitor  the  "hustling"  son  of  her 
mother's  old  seamstress. 

Ora  admitted  no  disloyalty  to  Mark  as  she  put  these 


94      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

questions  for  the  first  time  squarely  to  herself.  She  in 
tended  to  continue  to  treat  him  with  unswerving  friend 
ship,  to  give  him  all  the  assistance  in  her  power,  as  long 
as  she  lived.  And,  as  husbands  went,  she  made  no  doubt 
that  he  was  one  to  thank  her  grudging  providence  for. 
But  that  she  would  have  considered  him  for  a  moment 
had  she  inherited  the  fortune  her  father  had  made  and 
dissipated  was  as  likely  as  that  she  would  have  elected  to 
live  her  life  in  Butte. 

She  knew  Mark's  ambitions.  Washington  was  his  goal, 
and  he  was  by  no  means  averse  from  being  governor  of 
his  state  meanwhile.  Nor  would  he  have  been  a  genuine 
American  boy,  born  in  the  traditional  log  cabin — it  had 
been  a  log  cabin  as  a  matter  of  fact — if  he  had  not  cher 
ished  secret  designs  on  the  White  House.  In  all  this,  did 
it  prove  to  be  more  or  less,  she  could  be  of  incalculable 
assistance  to  him.  And  she  was  the  more  determined  to 
render  this  assistance  because  she  had  accepted  his  bounty 
and  was  unable  to  love  him. 

She  concluded  with  some  cynicism  that  the  account 
would  be  squared,  being  by  no  means  blind  to  what  she 
had  done  for  him  already  in  the  way  of  social  position 
and  prestige ;  still,  it  was  not  only  his  right,  but  a  penance 
demanded  by  her  self-respect.  She  was  living  the  most 
unidealistic  life  possible  to  a  woman  of  her  pride  and 
temperament,  but  she  would  redeem  it  as  far  as  lay  in  her 
power. 

She  moved  impatiently,  her  brows  puzzled  again,  and 
something  like  fear  in  her  heart.  What  did  this  slow 
awakening  portend?  Why  had  she  instinctively  held  it 
back  with  all  her  strength,  quite  successfully  until  her  new 
born  vanity,  with  its  infinite  suggestions,  had  quickened 
it  suddenly  into  imperious  expression? 

Certainly  she  was  conscious  of  no  desire  for  a  more 
idealistic  union  with  another  man.  If  she  had  inherited 
a  fortune,  she  would  have  married  no  one ;  not  then,  at  all 
events;  nothing  had  been  further  from  her  desire.  She 
would  have  lived  in  Europe  and  travelled  in  many  lands. 
Beyond  a  doubt  her  hunger  for  the  knowledge  that  lies  in 
books  would  have  been  satiated  long  since,  never  would 
have  assumed  a  discrepant  importance.  She  would  be  uni 
formly  developed,  and  she  would  have  met  many  men. 
With  the  double  passport  of  birth  and  wealth,  added  to 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       95 

the  fine  manner  she  owed  to  her  Southern  mother,  her 
natural  vivacity  and  magnetism,  and  a  physical  endow 
ment  that  she  now  knew  could  have  been  trained  into 
positive  beauty,  she  would  have  had  her  pick  of  men.  And 
when  a  woman  may  choose  of  the  best,  with  ample  time  at 
her  disposal,  it  was  incredible  that  the  true  mate,  the 
essential  companion,  should  not  be  found  before  it  was  too 
late.  Most  marriages  are  makeshifts;  but  for  the  fortunate 
few,  with  the  intelligence  to  wait,  and  the  developed  in 
stinct  to  respond,  there  was  always  the  possibility  of  the 
perfect  union. 

Ora  made  a  wry  face  at  this  last  collocation,  hne  nad 
no  yearning  for  the  "perfect  union."  Matrimony  had 
been  too  unutterably  distasteful.  She  turned  hastily  from 
the  subject  and  recalled  her  father's  impassioned  desire 
that  she  should  make  the  West  her  home,  her  career,  marry 
a  Western  man,  give  him  and  her  state  the  benefit  of  her 
endowments  and  accomplishments.  Possibly,  surfeited  with 
Europe,  she  would  have  returned  to  Montana  to  identify 
herself  with  its  progress,  whether  she  married  or  not.  She 
was  artistic  by  temperament  and  training,  and  correspond 
ingly  fastidious ;  she  cordially  detested  all  careers  pursued 
by  women  outside  those  that  were  the  natural  evolution 
of  an  artistic  gift.  But  she  could  have  built  herself  an 
immense  and  splendid  house,  filled  it  with  the  most  ex 
quisite  treasures  American  money  could  coax  from  the 
needy  aristocracy  of  Europe,  and  have  a  famous  salon; 
invite  the  pick  of  the  artistic,  literary,  musical,  and  politi 
cal  world  to  visit  her  for  weeks  or  months  at  a  time,  house 
parties  of  a  hundred  or  more,  and  so  make  her  state 
famous  for  something  besides  metals,  intensive  farming, 
and  political  corruption.  No  one  could  deny  that  the  state 
would  benefit  exceedingly. 

Conceivably,  in  time  she  would  take  a  husband,  as 
suredly  one  of  high  ambitions  and  abilities,  one  whose 
fortunes  probably  would  take  him  to  Washington. 

This  brought  her  back  to  Mark,  and  she  laughed  aloud. 
She  had  been  romancing  wildly ;  of  late  she  had  grudgingly 
admitted  that  nature  may  have  composed  her  to  be  ro 
mantic  after  she  had  recovered  from  the  intellectual  ob 
session;  and  the  circle  had  brought  her  round  to  her 
husband!  He  was  "forging  ahead"  with  extraordinary 
rapidity.  She  made  no  doubt  that  he  would  be  a  million- 


96      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

aire  within  the  ten  years'  limit  he  had  set  himself.  Nor 
would  he  rely  alone  upon  his  legal  equipment  and  the  many 
opportunities  to  exercise  it  when  a  man  was  "on  the  job 
all  the  time";  he  watched  the  development  of  Montana's 
every  industry,  new  and  established.  He  "bought  in  on 
the  ground  floor,"  gambled  discreetly  in  copper,  owned 
shares  in  several  new  and  promising  mines,  and  property 
on  the  most  picturesquely  situated  of  the  new  lakes  con 
structed  for  power  supply.  He  invested  what  he  could 
afford,  and  with  the  precision  of  the  man  on  the  spot. 
Yes,  he  would  be  one  of  the  Western  millionaires,  even  if 
not  one  of  the  inordinate  ones,  and  before  his  ten  years  had 
passed,  if  no  untoward  event  occurred. 

And  it  was  on  the  cards  that  she  would  have  her  own 
fortune  before  long.  She  knew  that  Mark  (who  had  her 
power  of  attorney)  had  made  better  terms  with  the  en 
gineers  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  he  dropped  mysterious 
hints  which,  knowing  his  level  head,  made  her  indulge  in 
ornate  dreams  now  and  again.  But  he  only  smiled  teas- 
ingly  when  she  demanded  a  full  explanation,  and  told  her 
that  she  would  realise  how  good  or  how  bad  her  mine  was 
when  she  went  to  the  bank  to  sign  her  letter  of  credit. 

For  one  thing  she  felt  suddenly  grateful.  She  knew 
that  the  mine  had  been  leased  for  a  year  only  and  without 
bond.  If,  during  that  time  it  "panned  out,"  she  would 
stipulate  to  mine  it  herself  when  the  contract  expired. 

She  sat  up  very  straight  and  smiled.  That  was  what 
she  would  have  liked!  If  her  father  had  but  willed  her 
this  mine  and  capital  enough  to  work  it  alone !  Her  fingers 
fluttered  as  they  always  did  when  handling  ore;  she  had 
wondered  before  if  the  prospector's  fever  were  in  her 
blood.  How  she  should  have  enjoyed  watching  the  rock 
come  up  in  the  buckets  as  the  shaft  sank  foot  by  foot,  until 
they  struck  the  vein;  always  expecting  chambers  of  in 
credible  richness,  gold,  copper,  silver.  She  would  even 
learn  to  do  the  pleasant  part  of  her  own  assaying;  and 
she  suddenly  experienced  an  intense  secretive  jealous  love 
for  this  mine  that  was  hers  and  in  which  might  be  hidden 
shining  blocks  of  those  mysterious  primary  deposits  deep 
in  the  sulphide  zone ;  forced  up  through  the  veins  of  earth, 
but  born  how  or  where  man  could  only  guess.  It  was  a 
mystery  that  she  wanted  to  feel  close  to  and  alone  with, 
far  in  the  winding  depths  of  her  mine. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       97 

She  got  up  and  moved  about  impatiently.  Her  pro 
pensity  to  dream  extravagantly  was  beginning  to  alarm  her, 
and  she  wished  uneasily  that  she  could  discover  the  gift  to 
write  and  work  it  off.  Where  would  it  lead  her?  But  she 
would  not  admit  for  a  moment  that  her  released  imagina 
tion,  pulsing  with  vitality,  and  working  on  whatever  she 
fed  it,  only  awaited  the  inevitable  moment  when  it  could 
concentrate  on  the  one  object  for  which  the  imagination  of 
woman  was  created. 

The  pendulum  swung  back  and  more  evenly.  She  told 
herself  it  was  both  possible  and  probable  that  she  had  a 
good  property,  however  short  it  might  fall  of  Butte  Hill. 
She  renewed  her  determination  to  mine  it  herself,  and 
work,  work,  work.  Therein  lay  safety.  The  future  seemed 
suddenly  full  of  alarms. 

And  there  was  Mark,  his  career,  his  demands,  dictated 
not  so  insistently  by  him  as  by  herself. 

Ora's  soul  rose  in  a  sudden  and  desperate  revolt  beside 
which  her  rising  aversion  from  unmitigated  intellect  was 
a  mere  megrim.  She  felt  herself  to  be  her  father 's  daugh 
ter  in  all  her  newly-opened  aching  brain  cells.  He  had 
lived  his  life  to  please  himself,  and  if  his  temptations  and 
weaknesses  might  never  be  hers — how  could  she  tell? — his 
intense  vitality  survived  in  her  veins,  his  imperious  spirit, 
his  scornful  independence.  She  glanced  at  the  rows  of 
calf-bound  books  he  had  handled  so  often.  Something  of 
his  sinister  powerful  personality  seemed  to  steal  forth  and 
encompass  her,  sweep  through  the  quickened  corridors  of 
her  brain.  Mark  Blake  was  not  the  man  he  would  have 
chosen  for  his  daughter.  Western,  Mark  might  be  to  the 
core,  but  he  was  second-rate,  and  second-rate  he  would 
remain  no  matter  what  his  successes. 

And,  she  wondered,  what  would  this  proud  ambitious 
parent,  whose  deepest  feeling  had  been  for  his  one  legiti 
mate  child,  say  to  her  plan  to  play  second  fiddle  for  life 
to  a  man  of  the  Mark  Blake  calibre?  He  had  wanted  her 
to  marry  in  the  West,  but  he  had  been  equally  insistent 
that  she  should  develop  a  personality  and  position  of  her 
own.  No  devoted  suffragist  could  have  been  a  more  ar 
dent  advocate  of  woman's  personal  development  than 
Judge  Stratton  had  been  where  his  daughter  was  con 
cerned.  To  the  rights  of  other  women  he  had  never  cast  a 
thought. 


98      PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

This  was  the  hour  of  grim  self-avowal.  She  admitted 
what  had  long  moved  in  the  back  of  her  mind,  striving 
toward  expression,  that  she  hated  herself  for  having  mar 
ried  any  man  for  the  miserable  reason  that  has  driven  so 
many  lazy  inefficient  women  into  loveless  marriages.  She 
should  have  gone  to  work.  More  than  one  of  her  father's 
old  friends  would  have  given  her  a  secretaryship.  She 
could  have  lived  on  her  little  capital  and  taken  the  four 
years'  course  at  the  School  of  Mines,  equipping  herself 
for  a  congenial  career.  If  that  had  not  occurred  to  her 
she  could  have  taught  French,  Italian,  German,  dancing, 
literature.  In  a  new  state  like  Montana,  with  many  women 
raised  abruptly  from  the  nethermost  to  the  highest  stratum, 
there  was  always  a  longing,  generally  unfulfilled,  for  the 
quick  veneer;  and  women  of  older  fortunes  welcomed  op 
portunities  to  improve  themselves.  She  could  have  taken 
parties  to  Europe. 

She  had  played  the  coward's  part  and  not  only  done 
a  black  injustice  to  herself  but  to  Mark  Blake.  He  was 
naturally  an  affectionate  creature,  and,  married  to  a  com 
fortable  sweet  little  wife,  he  would  have  been  domestic  and 
quite  happy.  In  spite  of  his  enjoyment  of  his  club,  his 
cards  and  billiards,  and  his  buoyant  nature,  she  suspected 
that  he  was  wistful  at  heart.  He  was  intensely  proud  of 
his  wife,  in  certain  ways  dependent  upon  her,  but  she 
knew  he  had  taken  for  granted  that  her  girlish  coldness 
would  melt  in  time  and  womanly  fires  kindle.  Well,  they 
never  would  for  him,  poor  Mark.  And  possessing  an  in 
herent  sense  of  justice,  she  felt  just  then  more  sympathy 
for  him  than  for  herself,  and  placed  all  his  good  points  to 
his  credit. 

She  was  conscious  of  no  sympathy  for  herself,  only  of 
that  deep  sense  of  puzzlement,  disturbance,  apprehension. 
Eevolt  passed.  Indications — the  abrupt  bursting  into 
flower  of  many  unsuspected  bulbs  in  her  inner  garden: 
softness,  sympathy,  a  more  spontaneous  interest  in  and 
response  to  others,  the  tendency  to  dream,  vague  formless 
aspirations — had  hinted,  even  before  she  took  her  new 
born  vanity  to  Miss  Ruby  Miller,  that  she  was  on  the 
threshold  of  one  of  the  dangerous  ages  (there  are  some 
ten  or  fifteen  of  them),  and  that  unless  she  had  the  doubt 
ful  wisdom  and  resolution  to  burn  out  her  garden  as  the 
poisonous  fumes  of  roasting  ores  had  blasted  the  fruitful 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL       99 

soil  of  Butte,  she  must  prepare  to  face  Life,  possibly  its 
terrible  joys  and  sorrows. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  ran  upstairs  and  dressed 
for  the  street.  At  least  she  had  one  abiding  interest  and 
responsibility,  Ida  Compton.  She  was  a  self-imposed  and 
absorbing  duty,  and  always  diverting. 


XVI 

,  you  give  me  the  willys!" 

"My  dear   Mrs.   Compton!     How  often  have  you 
promised  me — 

"Well,  if  you  will  stare  at  me  like  a  moonstruck  setter 
dog  when  I'm  trying  to  think  up  'steen  synonyms  for 
one  old  word  without  looking  in  the  dictionary!  I  can't 
blow  up  my  vocabulary  like  a  paper  bag  and  flirt  with 
you  at  the  same  time." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  flirt  with  you!"  said  Professor 
Whalen  with  great  dignity.  "It  is  quite  the  reverse.  You 
have  been  playing  with  my  feelings  for  months." 

"Don't  flatter  yourself.  I've  been  too  set  on  becoming 
a  real  lady  before  leaving  for  Europe — haven't  thought 
about  you." 

Professor  Whalen  turned  a  deep  dull  red.  His  over 
lapping  upper  teeth  shot  forward  as  if  to  snap  down  upon 
his  long  rather  weak  chin.  He  stared  past  Ida  through 
the  open  window.  It  was  May  and  the  snow  was  melting 
on  the  mountains,  had  disappeared  from  the  streets  of 
Butte ;  there  is  a  brief  springtime  in  Montana  between  the 
snows  of  winter  and  the  cold  rains  of  June,  and  today 
was  soft  and  caressing. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  is  the  matter  with  you,"  said  Ida, 
cruelly.  "It's  the  spring  of  the  year." 

Whalen  sprang  to  his  feet.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
anaemic  life  he  was  furiously  angry,  and  he  rejoiced  in 
the  sensation.  "I  wish  you  were  a  man,"  he  stuttered. 
"I'd  beat  you.  It  would  do  my  heart  good." 

"If  you  were  a  real  man  you  would  enjoy  beating  a 
woman  a  long  sight  more,"  goaded  Ida,  who  watched  him 
as  a  man-eating  tigress  may  watch  the  squirming  victim 
between  her  paws.  She  had  fed  her  vanity  and  amused 
herself  by  playing  on  the  little  man's  pale  emotions  until 
she  was  convinced  he  really  was  in  love  with  her.  She 

100 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVJ:1>     101 

suddenly  made  up  her  mind  to  force  him  to  "let  go,"  and 
experience  the  sensation  of  being  made  love  to  feloniously. 
"I  am  not  a  brute,"  announced  Whalen,  still  in  the 
same  stifled  voice.  His  face  was  purple,  but  he  was  con 
scious  of  a  warning  whisper  that  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
lose  this  remunerative  pupil.  He  dismissed  the  warning. 
There  is  probably  no  man  so  insignificant  in  whom  passion 
for  the  imperative  woman  does  not  develop  abnormally 
the  purely  masculine  conceit.  He  may  despair  in  solitude, 
when  devitalised  by  reaction  and  doubt,  but  when  in  her 
presence,  under  her  inviting  eye,  and  hurried  to  a  crisis 
by  hammering  pulses  and  scorching  blood,  he  is  merely 
the  primitive  male  with  whom  to  desire  is  to  have. 

Ida   laughed,    a   low   throaty   husky   laugh.      "If   you 
were,"  she  said  cuttingly,   "you  might  stand  a  show." 
"It  is  you  that  are  brutal,"  hissed  poor  Whalen. 
Ida  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  looked  at  him  out  of 
half-closed  eyes.    "What  induced  you  to  fall  in  love  with 
me,   anyhow?"   she   demanded  in   her  sweet   lazy  voice. 
Whalen  clenched  his  hands. 

"I  am  a  man  if  I  am  not  a  brute.  You  are  the  most 
fascinating  woman  on  earth,  and  you  have  deliberately 
tried  to  entice  me  from  the  path  of  rectitude  I  have  trod 

all  my  life " 

"What's  that?"  Ida  sat  up  straight,  her  brows  drawn 
in  an  ominous  frown. 

"I  have  resisted  you  until  today,  but  I  yield 

"What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about?" 
"I  expected  to  be  tormented  to  the  utmost  limit.  But  I 
have  stood  all  of  it  that  I  purpose  to  stand."  His  voice 
by  this  time  was  a  subdued  roar.  "I  don't  care  whether 
you  love  me  or  not.  I  don't  think  you  could  love  anybody. 
I  have  read  that  sirens  never  do.  But  you  are  an  en 
chantress,  and  you  have  shown  plainly  enough- 
Ida's  frown  had  relaxed,  but  her  eyes  blazed.  He  mis 
understood  their  expression,  as  well  as  the  sudden  forward 
thrust  of  her  head.  He  sprang  forward,  caught  her  by 
the  shoulders  and  kissed  her. 

"Aw!"  Ida's  voice  was  almost  a  roar.  She  leaped 
to  her  feet,  twirled  him  about,  caught  him  by  the  back  of 
his  collar  and  the  seat  of  his  trousers,  and  threw  him  out 
of  the  window  as  if  he  had  been  an  offensive  dog.  She 
flung  his  hat  and  stick  after  him  and  slammed  the  window 


102     FEBCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

down.  Then  she  stamped  her  feet  in  inarticulate  rage, 
and  rubbed  and  bit  her  mouth.  It  was  one  thing  to  play 
with  a  man's  passions  and  quite  another  to  be  defiled  by 
them.  Ida  seethed  with  the  fierce  virtue  of  a  young  in 
experienced  and  temperamentally  cold  woman.  For  a  few 
moments  she  used  very  bad  language  indeed,  and  struggled 
with  an  impulse  to  run  after  the  " little  puppy"  and  whip 
him  in  the  street.  But,  remembering  that  she  was  making 
a  heroic  attempt  to  be  a  grande  dame,  she  finally  went  into 
her  bedroom  and  washed  her  face. 


XVII 

was  a  knock  on  the  front  door.  Ida,  smooth- 
ing  her  hair,  hastened  to  open  it,  glad  of  diversion. 
Ora  stood  there.  For  a  moment  the  girls  looked  hard  at 
each  other,  then  burst  into  laughter. 

1 1  What 's  up  ? "  asked  Ida.    ' '  You  look ' ' 

"My  dear,  it  is  I  who  should  ask?  Your  face  is  crim 
son  ;  you  look  as  if  you  had  just  given  some  one  a  beating, 
and  I  met  poor  little  Whalen,  dusty,  dishevelled,  growling 
like  a  mad  dog — he  didn't  know  me/' 

"Well,  I  guess  he  won't  know  himself  for  a  while," 
said  Ida  drily,  leading  the  way  into  the  parlour.  "When 
he  comes  to  he'll  have  his  work  cut  out  to  climb  back  to 
his  little  two-cent  pedestal  and  fit  on  his  battered  halo." 
She  related  the  incident.  "What  do  you  know  about 
that?"  she  demanded  in  conclusion.  "Wouldn't  it  come 
and  get  you?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  made  an  enemy.  It  is  always 
best  to  let  them  down  gently,  save  their  pride — and — ah! 
— it  isn't  customary  to  throw  gentlemen  out  of  the  win 
dow!" 

"Gentlemen!"  snorted  Ida.  "He's  no  gentleman.  He 
not  only  kissed  me  with  his  horrid  front  teeth,  but  he  in 
sinuated  that  I  was  just  languishing  for  him,  the " 

Once  more  Ida's  feelings  overflowed  in  language  not  in 
tended  for  print.  "It  made  me  so  mad  I'd  have  lammed 
him  with  the  umbrella  if  we'd  been  in  the  hall." 

"Ida,"  asked  Ora  abruptly,  "would  you  have  minded 
so  much  if  he  had  been  good-looking  and  attractive  ? ' ' 

"Well — perhaps — I  guess  in  that  case  I'd  simply  have 
smacked  him  and  let  him  get  out  quick  by  the  front  door. 
But  I  don't  want  any  man  touching  me.  I'm  a  married 
woman. ' ' 

"But  if  you  flirt  and  lead  them  on 

"You  said  once  yourself  that  American  men  understood 
the  game  and  knew  how  to  take  their  medicine." 

103 


104     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"I  also  said  that  they  can  fall  more  tiresomely  in  love 
than  any  other  men.  Of  course  the  Whalens  don't  count. 
But  do  you  intend  to  go  on  making  men  fall  in  love  with 
you  and  throwing  them — metaphorically — out  of  the  win 
dow?" 

"Much  chance  I'll  get." 

"You'll  find  plenty  of  chances  in  Europe.  You  are  a 
remarkably  beautiful  woman.  And  Europeans  take  what 
we  call  flirting  for  shameless  encouragement." 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  be  getting  experience  of  the  world 
all  right.  And  the  Lord  knows  I'd  like  to  be  admired  by 
men  who  have  seen  something.  I  can  take  care  of  myself, 
and  Greg  don't  need  to  worry." 

"I've  no  doubt  of  that.  Of  course  you  are  awfully 
fond  of  Mr.  Compton,  aren't  you?"  Ora  spoke  somewhat 
wistfully. 

' '  Oh,  yes ;  fond  enough,  fonder  than  a  good  many  wives, 
I  guess,  for  he 's  kind  and  pleasant,  and  no  earthly  trouble 
about  the  house.  But  when  a  woman  marries  she  gets  a 
kid  right  there  at  the  altar,  and  he's  her  biggest  kid  till 
his  false  teeth  drop  out  on  his  deathbed,  and  his  great 
grandchildren  are  feeding  him  through  a  tube.  I  don't 
want  any  of  the  other  sort  of  kids,  and  I  guess  I'm  not 
what  you  call  the  maternal  woman,  but  the  Lord  knows 
I'm  a  mother  to  Greg  and  a  good  one.  I'd  like  to  know 
what  he'd  do  without  me — that's  the  only  reason  I  hate 
leaving.  He  never  thinks  of  changing  his  shoes  when 
they're  wet,  and  half  the  time  wouldn't  eat  anything  but 
his  book  if  I  didn't  put  the  stuff  right  in  front  of  him." 

"Mark  knows  him  almost  as  well  as  you  do,  and  will 
look  after  him.  My  maid,  who  is  practically  my  house 
keeper,  and  an  old  family  servant,  will  also  keep  a  maternal 
eye  on  him." 

"He  keeps  himself  tidy,"  conceded  Ida  handsomely. 
"Wants  clean  things  every  day,  but  never  knows  where 
to  find  them.  He  '11  wander  out  into  the  kitchen  where  I  'm 
cooking  breakfast  and  ask  where  his  socks  are,  and  they 
always  in  the  same  drawer." 

1 '  I  fancy  you  've  spoiled  him. ' ' 

"Not  I.  I  don't  hold  with  spoiling  men.  They're  born 
spoiled  anyhow.  I  found  Greg  walking  round  in  a  dream 
when  I  married,  and  a  pile  of  socks  as  high  as  the  door 
knob  he'd  thrown  away  because  they'd  holes  in  them  so 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     105 

tiny  you  could  hardly  see  them.  I  darned  every  one,  you 
bet,  and  he's  wearing  them  now,  though  he  don't  know  it. 
He 's  like  that,  as  dainty  as  a  cat,  and  as  helpless  as  a  blind 
kitten.  I  am  a  wife  and  I  know  my  duty,"  concluded  Ida 
virtuously.  , 

"I  certainly  shall  give  Ouster  minute  directions.  1  can  t 
have  you  worrying." 

"I'll  not  worry,  once  I'm  started.  Don  t  you  tret! 
But  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Ora?  You  look  kinder 
excited,  and  kinder— well,  harassed.  How's  that  out  of 
the  new  pocket  dictionary  I've  set  up  in  my  head? 

"I'll  soon  have  to  look  to  my  own  vocabulary.     Oh— 

I » 

1  ( Something 's  up.    Spit  it  out.    It  '11  do  you  good. ' ' 
"Dear  Ida!    If  you  must  use  slang,  do  confine  yourself 
to  that  which  has  passed  through  the  mint  of  polite  society. 
There  is  an  abundance  to  choose  from!" 

"Don't  you  worry;  I  won't  disgrace  you.     But  I  must 
let    out    a    tuck    occasionally    when    we're    alone.      Greg 
wouldn't  let  me  go  to  any  of  the   Club   dances,   and 
scarcely  ever  see  Ruby  or  Pearl,  they're  so  busy— to  say 
nothing  of  myself!" 

"Very  well,"  said  Ora,  laughing.     "Let  me  be  your 
safety  valve,  by  all  means." 
"Fire  away." 

"Oh— how  am  I  to  tell  you— I  scarcely  know,  my  sell 
» 

"I  guess  you're  waking  up.  Ruby,  who  knows  human 
nature  like  a  book— 

Ora  half  rose.  "Have  you  been  talking  me  over  with 
Miss  Miller?"  she  asked  haughtily. 

"Not  much.  Hardly  seen  her  since  we  met.  But  you 
interest  Butte,  you  know.  I  guess  they  talk  you  over 
good  and  plenty.  It  was  only  a  few  days  before  you  called 
that  the  Miller  girls  visited  with  me  all  day,  and  they 
talked  a  lot  about  you.  Ruby  said  that  if  you'd  come  to 
out  of  the  sleeping  beauty  stage,  you'd  make  things  hum 
and  that  her  fingers  just  itched  to  get  at  your  skin  and 
hair."  „. 

"She  said  that  to  me  once;  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  I  called  her  in  some  time  ago." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  a  bat.  I've  seen  you  looking  prettier 
every  day,  and  there's  only  one  way  to  do  it,  when  you've 


106     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

let  yourself  go.  I've  had  the  benefit  of  Ruby's  advice  for 
years,  and  I  don't  propose  to  let  myself  go,  not  for  a 
minute. ' ' 

11  Right  you  are.  And  do  live  your  life  normally  from 
day  to  day,  developing  normally.  The  awakening  process, 
when  the  Nature  that  made  you  is  no  longer  content  to 
be  a  mere  footstool  for  the  mind,  is  almost  as  painful  as 
coming  to  after  drowning.  I  suddenly  have  become  con 
scious  of  myself,  as  it  were ;  I  am  interested  in  many  more 
things — personal  things — I  seem  to  want  far  more  of  life 
than  I  did  a  few  months  ago " 

"In  other  words,  you  don't  know  where  you're  at." 

Ora  laughed  merrily.  "My  present  condition  could  not 
be  stated  more  patly!" 

"Ora,  I  don't  want  to  pry  into  your  confidence,  and 
you're  not  one  to  give  much  of  that  anyhow,  but  every 
body  in  Butte  knows  that  you're  not  in  love  with  Mark, 
and  never  were,  nice  as  you  treat  him — only  because  you 
couldn't  be  anything  but  a  lady  if  you  tried.  Mrs.  O'Neil, 
one  day  when  she  was  having  a  massage,  told  Ruby  all 
about  your  marriage.  She  said  you  were  the  most  be 
wildered  young  thing  she  ever  saw,  and  that  Mark  snapped 
you  up  before  another  young  man  could  get  a  look  at  you. 
Now,  I've  known  Mark  all  my  life — he  beaued  my  sister 
who  died,  for  a  year  or  two,  and  his  mother's  cottage  was 
just  up  the  hill  anyhow;  and  although  he's  a  good  chap 
and  a  born  hustler,  and  bound  to  get  rich,  he's  not  the 
sort  of  man  women  fall  in  love  with.  You  wouldn't  have 
fallen  in  love  with  him,  if  he'd  been  born  a  millionaire, 
and  travelled  and  got  Butte  out  of  his  system.  And  if 
your  father  had  left  you  well  off,  you  wouldn't  have  looked 
at  him.  There's  men,  bad  and  good — that's  to  say,  better 
— that  women  fall  in  love  with,  and  there's  men  bad  and 
good  that  they  don't,  not  in  a  thousand  years.  Poor  old 
Mark's  a  Don't  all  right.  You  ain't  angry  at  my  saying 
all  this,  but  Mark  was  like  my  own  brother  for  years?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  am  not  angry.  You  are  far  too  matter-of- 
fact.  You  might  be  discussing  different  grades  of  ore!" 

1 '  Well,  that 's  about  it,  and  the  poor  ore  can 't  help  itself, 
any  more  than  the  slag  and  gangue  can,  and  Mark's  not 
either  of  those,  you  bet.  He's  good  metal,  all  right,  only 
he  didn't  come  out  of  the  Anaconda  mine — What  have 
you  turned  so  red  about?  My!  But  you  do  blush  easy!" 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     107 

"It's  this — do  you  despise  me — do  you  think  I  did 
wrong— Oh,  I  mean  I  have  quite  suddenly  realised  that  1 
never  should  have  married  any  man  for  so  contemptible  a 
reason.  I  should  have  gone  to  work " 

"Work?     You?" 

"Why  not?  Many  a  delicately  nurtured  woman  has 
earned  her  bread. " 

"The  more  fool  she  if  she  could  get  a  man  to  earn  it 
for  her.  That's  what  they're  for.  The  Lord  knows  they 
pride  themselves  on  the  way  they  do  it,  being  the  stronger 
sex  and  a  lot  more  words.  I  guess  I'd  have  married  before 
Greg  turned  up  if  I'd  met  a  man  I  was  sure  was  going 
to  make  something  of  himself.  You  did  just  right  to  take 
a  good  husband  and  take  him  quick  when  you  found  your 
self  in  a  hole." 

"Yes— but "     Her  blush  deepened.     ''You  see— 

Ora  never  had  had  an  intimate  confidant.  It  was  doubt 
ful  if  she  ever  would  have;  not,  at  all  events,  a  woman. 
But  Ida,  as  she  herself  would  have  expressed  it,  could  al 
ways  see  through  a  stone  wall  when  there  was  a  crack 

in  it. 

"Oh,  shucks!"  she  said.  "Don't  let  that  worry  you. 
If  you  don't  feel  that  way  first  you  do  last,  I  guess.  Most 
of  us  are  bored  to  death,  but  women  have  stood  it  for  a 
few  thousand  years,  and  I  guess  they  can  stand  it  for 
a  few  thousand  more.  We  all  of  us  have  to  pay  high 
for  anything  we  want.  That's  about  the  size  of  it.  For- 

'  "Thanks,  dear,  you  console  me."  Ora  smiled  with 
closed  eyes,  but  she  was  thrilled  with  a  sudden  inexplicable 
longing ;  like  other  of  her  recent  sensations,  it  puzzled  and 
alarmed  her. 

"Ora!"  exclaimed  Ida  suddenly.  " There's  one  thing 
that's  just  as  sure  as  death  and  taxes;  and  knowing  men 
and  knowing  life  don't  help  women  one  little  bit.  It's 
this:  A  woman's  got  to  have  her  love  affair  sooner  or 
later.  If  she  marries  for  love  she's  pretty  safe,  for  ten 
or  fifteen  years,  anyhow.  But  if  she  doesn't,  well,  she'll 
get  it  in  the  neck  sooner  or  later — and  it'll  be  about  the 
time  she  begins  to  sit  up  and  take  notice.  She's  a  regular 
magnet  then,  too.  So  watch  out." 

Ora  opened  her  eyes.  They  looked  like  steel.  have 
never  given  a  thought  to  love.  There  is  nothing  I  want 


108    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

less.  I  shall  continue  to  make  Mark  as  good  a  wife  as  I 
know  how  to  be " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  saying  you'll  go  off  the  hooks,  like  some 
I  could  mention  in  your  own  bunch,  but  if  the  man  comes 
along  you'll  fall  in  love  all  right.  Might  as  well  try  to 
stop  a  waterfall  from  jumping  over  the  rocks.  I'm  not  so 
dead  sure  I  do  know  what  you'd  do.  Pride,  and  high 
breeding,  and  duty  would  pull  one  way,  but — well,  I  guess 
when  you  marble  women  get  waked  up  good  and  plenty, 
what  they  call  roused,  you're  the  worst  kind.  A  consider 
able  number  of  other  things  would  pull  from  the  opposite 
direction,  and  one  of  them  would  be  the  man." 

'  *  Ida ! ' '  said  Ora,  aghast.  ' '  How  do  you  know  so  much  ? 
Your  opportunities  have  been  very  limited. ' ' 

"Oh,  have  they?  Wasn't  I  born  and  brought  up  in  a 
mining  camp?  Butte  is  some  education,  believe  me.  I 
ran  straight  all  right,  not  only  because  the  sporting  life 
had  no  charms  for  me  but  because  I  figured  on  moving 
over  one  of  these  days  to  Millionaire  Gulch.  But  it  wasn't 
for  want  of  opportunity,  and  the  same  opportunities  were 
handed  over  by  men  of  your  crowd — or  fixin'  to  be.  Be 
sides,  some  women  are  born  wise  that  way,  I  guess,  and 
I'm  one  of  'em.  You've  been  living  in  a  sort  of  self- 
made  heaven  all  your  life,  with  only  books  for  inhabitants. 
I  could  put  you  wise  every  day  in  the  week." 

"It  is  true  that  although  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  life  while 
my  mother  lived  so  much  in  the  world,  and  always  have 
been  deeply  interested  in  the  work  of  the  psychological 
novelists,  particularly  the  Europeans — I — well,  I  never 
applied  it  to  my — never  thought  much  about  it  until  lately. 
I  do  not  seem  to  know  myself  the  least  little  bit." 

"I  guess  it'll  be  me — Oh,  Lord,  I — taking  you  to  Europe, 
not  you  me.  I'll  see  that  you  don't  get  into  mischief,  for 
I'd  hate  like  the  dickens  to  have  you  go  to  pieces  over 
any  man.  Not  one  of  them  that  ever  lived  since  Adam  is 
worth  it.  They're  all  right  to  marry,  all  things  being 
equal,  but  to  sacrifice  your  life  for,  nixie.  Any  style  of 
man  you  are  partial  to?  I'll  keep  his  sort  off  with  a 
broom. ' ' 

"I've  never  gone  so  far  as  even  to  think " 

"Every  woman  has  her  style  in  men,"  said  Ida  firmly. 
"I  heard  of  a  woman  once  who  had  three  husbands  and 
each  one  had  a  wart  on  his  nose." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     109 

"Oh,  you  are  funny!  I  have  heard  that  a  woman  falls 
in  love  with  a  type,  not  with  the  man,  and,  like  all  epi 
grams,  that  one  contains  a  half-truth.  I  had  two  or  three 
girlish  fancies;  one  was  an  Austrian  officer,  another  a 
French  nobleman— and  not  impecunious— he  wasn't  a  for 
tune  hunter.  The  third  was  a  New  Yorker  who  fell  in 
love  with  my  cousin  and  married  her.  I  had  a  few  heart 
spasms  over  him,  in  particular;  possibly  because  he  was 
quite  out  of  reach.  It  is  true  that  they  were  all  more  of 
or  less  of  a  type— tall  and  thin  and  dark,  with  something 
very  keen  and  clever  and  modern  in  their  lean— rather 
hard  faces." 

11  Hi  '."cried  Ida. 

"What  is  the  matter?  You  look  at  me  as  if  you  had 
seen  a  ghost." 

Ida  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed,  showing  her  sharp 
little  white  teeth,  and  straining  her  throat  until  the  firm 
flesh  looked  thin  and  drawn,  over  too  strong  muscles. 
"Oh,  Lord!  I  was  just  thinking  what  a  lot  of  trouble 
I'm  in  for,  playing  dragon  to  my  lily-white  lady.  I  guess 
about  half  the  men  in  the  world  are  brunettes,  fat  or  lean. 
Say,  are  you  going  to  the  Prom?  It's  only  a  month  off." 
"I  hadn't  thought  about  it.  Probably.  I  have  been 
asked  to  be  a  patroness,  and  Mark  is  sure  to  want  to  go. 
Have  you  decided  what  to  wear  ? ' ' 

"Ma  gave  me  a  coral-red  silk  when  I  married,  and  I  m 
going  to  make  it  over  and  veil  it  with  black  net." 
=  "Splendid!"  cried  Ora  warmly.  "Bring  it  up  to  the 
house.  Mrs.  Finley  is  really  an  excellent  seamstress. 
We'll  all  take  a  hand.  It  will  be  great  fun.  And  you  will 
look  stunning." 

"What  will  you  wear?" 

"I  expect  some  gowns  from  my  New  York  dressmaker 
in  a  few  days.  It  will  depend  upon  the  state  of  my  com 
plexion,  I  fancy." 


XVIII 

QRA  received  another  budget  of  Ida's  philosophy  on 
the  day  before  the  Prom;  she  had  taken  her  a  long 
string  of  pink  coral  she  had  found  among  her  old  posses 
sions,  and  after  Ida  had  wound  it  in  her  hair  and  round 
her  neck,  and  finally  tried  on  her  gown,  and  then  draped 
Ura  successively  in  various  scarves,  remnants  of  her  own 
wedding  finery— being  almost  as  interested  in  the  new  com 
plexion  as  Ora  herself— they  had  suddenly  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  while  in  Europe  they  would  assume  the 
mental  attitude  of  girls  travelling  without  a  chaperon 
Iney  would  see  the  world  from  the  independent  girl's 
point  of  view,  flirt  like  girls,  not  like  married  women 
(which  at  least  would  save  their  consciences),  force  men 
to  accept  the  phenomenon.    For  a  time  they  discussed  the 
superior  advantages  of  being  young  widows,  but,  alluring 
and  even  thrilling  as  were  the  possibilities  evoked    they 
dismissed  the   alternative  on  the   ground  that  it   might 
prove  a  bore  always  to  be  on  the  defensive;  man  making 
no  secret  of  his  attitude  toward  widows.     Besides    they 
ielt  a  delicacy  about  burying  their  indulgent  husbands 
even  in  mental  effigy.     As  counterfeit  girls  they  could 
crowd  enough  excitement  into  six  months  to  serve  them 
in  ^  memory  during  long  periods  of  Butte. 

'It  will  be  some  bluff,"  cried  Ida.  "And  believe  me 
we  11  have  the  time  of  our  lives.  And  no  remorse  in  mine' 
I  intend  to  flirt  the  limit,  for  I'm  just  ready  to  quit  being 
a  mother  for  a  while  and  see  a  man's  eyes  kindle  when  he 
comes  nigh— see  him  playing  about  at  the  end  of  a  string 
I  didn  t  have  near  enough  of  it  even  when  I  had  half  Butte 
at  my  feet^-excuse  what  sounds  like  conceit  but  is  cold 
fact.  Now,  I'm  going  to  light  up  every  man  I  take  a 
tancy  to.  I  don't  care  an  abandoned  prospect  hole  whether 
I  hurt  'em  or  not.  All  they  are  good  for  is  to  give  us  a 
good  time." 


110 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     111 

"Ida!"  Ora  was  aghast  as  she  often  had  been  before 
at  these  naked  feminine  revelations.  "You  talk  like  a 
man-eater.  I  hope  to  heaven  I  am  not  like  that  down 
deep." 

' '  Oh,  maybe  you  won 't  be  so  bad  because  you  haven  t 
got  as  much  vanity.  Mine's  insatiable,  I  guess,  and  good 
old  Mother  Nature  taught  me  the  trick  of  covering  it  up 
with  the  don't-care-a-damn  air  combined  with  the  come- 
hither  eye.  That  does  the  trick.  And  they  get  what  hurt's 
going.  I  don't.  You'll  cultivate  men,  thinking^ it 's  your 
vanity  waked  up,  or  mere  youth,  or  because  it's  time  to 
have  a  fling,  but  what  you  really  are  after  is  the  one  and 
only  man.  The  Companion.  The  Sympathetic  Soul.  The 
Mate.  All  that  rot.  He  don't  exist,  kiddo.  He's  the 
modern  immaculate  conception,  and  he's  generally  still 
born;  the  bungling  doctor  being  the  plain  unadulterated 
male  inside  of  himself.  You've  got  to  be  your  own  com 
panion,  and  if  you  want  happiness  you  can  get  it  by  ex 
pecting  just  nothing  of  men.  Use  them.  ^  Throw  them  on 
the  ash  heap.  Pass  on  to  the  next.  Quit  sitting  on  the 
watch  tower  with  your  eyes  trained  on  the  horizon  for 
the  prince  that  is  born  and  lives  and  dies  in  a  woman's 
imagination. ' ' 

"I  have  seen  happy — united  couples — who  had  been 
married  for  years." 

"Oh,  yes;  some  couples  are  born  to  jog  along  together, 
and  some  wives  are  born  man-tamers,  and  get  a  lot  of 
satisfaction  out  of  it.  But  you're  much  too  high-falutin' 
for  that.  You'll  always  dream  of  the  impossible— not 
only  in  man  but  of  what  he's  got  to  give — which  ain't 
much.  And  I  didn't  need  all  them— those— psychological 
and  problem  and  worldly  novels  you  made  me  read,  trans 
lated  from  half  a  dozen  languages,  either.  You  take  my 
advice,  Ora,  and  don't  start  off  on  any  fool  hunt  for  an 
ideal.  Men  are  just  matter-of-fact  two-legged  animals, 
and  as  selfish  as  a  few  thousand  years  of  fool  women  have 
naturally  made  them.  He  does  well  while  he's  court 
ing  because  he's  naturally  good  at  bluff.  But  every  bit 
of  romance  oozes  out  of  him  after  he's  eaten  his  first 
breakfast  of  ham  and  eggs  at  home.  We  can  keep  up  the 
bluff  forever.  Men  can't.  Each  one  of  them's  got  a  kid 
twin  brother  inside  that  plays  marbles  till  he  dies  and 
makes  you  feel  older  every  day.  No,  sir!  If  I  ever  had 


112     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL1 

any  delusions,  I've  got  over  them  good  and  plenty.    And 
I  thank  the  Lord,"  she  aded  piously. 

"I  think  that  rather  adorable,  you  know:  the  eternal 
boy.  And  I  fancy  it  is  all  that  saves  men  from  becoming 
horrors;  in  this  country,  at  least — when  you  consider  the 
unending  struggle,  and  strain,  and  sordid  business  of 
money  getting.  They  use  up  all  their  bluff  in  the  battle 
of  life,  poor  things.  Why  shouldn't  they  be  natural  with 
us?  .  .  ." 

Ora  was  recalling  this  conversation  as  she  sat  in  her 
bedroom  on  the  following  evening.  Her  elemental  yet  un 
cannily  sophisticated  friend  had  a  way  of  crashing  chords 
out  of  jealously  hidden  nerves,  which  no  exercise  of  will 
could  disconnect  from  the  logical  parts  of  the  brain.  If  it 
were  true  that  what  her  now  rampant  ego,  too  long 
starved,  really  demanded  was  man  and  romance,  she 
wished  she  had  let  herself  run  to  seed  until  it  was  too  late 
to  reclaim  her  lost  beauty  and  adventure  into  tempta 
tion.  But  a  glance  into  the  mirror  deprived  her  of  any 
further  desire  to  join  the  vast  sisterhood  of  unattractive 
females.  Moreover,  she  had  faith  in  the  dominance  of  her 
will  and  common  sense,  and  if  her  beauty  would  help  her 
to  the  mental  contacts  she  craved  with  brilliant  and  in 
teresting  men,  far  be  it  from  her  to  execrate  it. 

She  dismissed  the  mood  of  self-analysis  impatiently  and 
opened  her  wardrobe,  although  half  inclined  not  to  attend 
the  Prom.  She  was  one  of  the  patronesses,  but  her  pres 
ence  was  not  essential.  It  was  pre-eminently  the  night  of 
nights  for  young  folks — brownies  and  squabs — and  the 
absence  of  a  married  woman  of  twenty-six  would  pass 
unrecorded.  Not  a  man  in  Butte  interested  her  person 
ally,  nor  was  she  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  be  interested  by 
any  of  the  too  specialised  products  of  the  West.  Nor  was 
she  inordinately  fond  of  dancing;  there  really  was  no 
object  in  going  to  this  party  save  to  witness  the  debut  and 
possible  triumph  of  her  protegee. 

But  she  felt  something  more  than  indifference  toward 
this  party.  It  was  as  if  a  gong  sounded  a  warning  in  the 
depths  of  her  brain — in  her  subconsciousness,  perhaps, 
where  instinct,  that  child  of  ancestral  experience,  dwelt. 
But  even  while  she  hesitated  she  knew  that  she  should 
go,  and  she  took  one  of  her  new  gowns  from  a  long  drawer, 
and  then  began  to  arrange  her  hair. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     113 

It  was  now  some  five  months  since  Miss  Ruby  Miller 
had  taken  her  in  hand,  and  if  the  young  woman's  bank 
account  was  heavier  her  pride  as  an  artist  far  outweighed 
it.  Ora's  hair  was  soft,  abundant,  the  colour  of  warm 
ashes.  The  skin  of  her  face  was  as  white  and  transparent, 
as  "pearly"  to  use  its  doctor's  own  descriptive  word,  as 
the  fine  protected  surface  of  her  slender  throat,  her  thin 
but  by  no  means  bony  neck.  Her  lips  were  pink;  they 
never  would  be  red;  and  after  one  taste  of  "lip  stick," 
Ora  had  declined  to  have  them  improved  by  art.  But  they 
were  a  soft  country-rose  pink  and  suited  her  clear  white 
ness  far  better  than  scarlet.  Her  eyes,  never  so  clear 
and  startling  as  now,  lighted  up  the  cold  whiteness  of  her 
face  and  made  her  pink  mouth  look  childish  and  somewhat 
pathetic.  If  her  lips  had  been  red,  her  face  would  have 
had  the  sinister  suggestion  so  many  women  achieve  with 
the  assistance  of  art;  as  it  was  she  looked  by  no  means 
harmless  as  she  smiled  at  herself  in  the  mirror  and  coiled 
her  hair  softly  on  the  top  of  her  head.  After  some  ex 
perimenting  she  had  decided  that  she  could  not  improve 
upon  an  arrangement  which  for  the  present  at  least  was 
all  her  own. 

She  rang  for  Ouster  to  hook  her  gown.  It  was  a  very 
soft  gown  of  white  satin  draped  about  the  bust  with  lace 
and  chiffon.  It  was  cut  to  the  waist  line  in  the  back  and 
almost  as  low  in  front,  for  her  figure  was  hardly  more 
developed  than  a  growing  girl 's ;  and  it  was  unrelieved  by 
colour.  She  had  already  put  on  the  string  of  pearls  her 
mother  had  hidden  when  the  other  jewels  were  sold  in 
Paris.  Altogether  it  was  a  costume  she  would  not  have 
dared  to  wear  even  two  months  ago,  when  a  touch  of 
colour  on  the  bodice  or  in  her  hair  was  necessary  to  divert 
attention  from  her  spoiled  complexion. 

Ouster  had  been  her  mother's  maid  for  many  years 
and  had  returned  with  her  to  Butte.  After  an  interval  of 
employment  elsewhere,  she  had  come  to  Ora  as  soon  as 
Mark  had  built  his  house.  She  hooked  the  gown,  pinned 
up  a  stray  lock  with  an  invisible  hairpin,  shook  out  the 
little  train,  and  stood  off. 

"It  reminds  me  of  the  way  your  mother  used  to  look," 
she  said,  "and  you're  even  prettier  than  she  was,  Miss 
Ora — now.  But  I  fancy  you'll  be  more  comfortable  in  this 
gown  when  you  wear  it  in  London.  These  ladies  dress 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

smartly  enough,  but  never  as  low  as  the  English  ladies  do, 
leastways  out  here.  I  fancy  it's  the  Western  men.  They 
don't  seem  to  approve  of  showing  too  much." 

"Well,  I  think  I'll  rather  enjoy  startling  the  natives 
Quick— give  me  my  wrap !  I  hear  Mr.  Blake  coming  No 
controversy  here." 


XIX 

THE  Prom  was  held  not  in  the  School  of  Mines  but  in 
The  Coliseum,  a  large  hall  over  a  saloon  and  garage, 
half  way  between  The  Hill  and  The  Flat,  requisitioned 
by  all  classes  when  the  weather  forbade  the  use  of 
bia  Gardens.  The  walls  were  covered  with  the  School 
colours,  copper  and  green,  flags,  and  college  pennants. 
The  ceiling  was  a  network  of  electric  lights  with  coloured 
globes,  copper  and  green,  fluttering  paper  and  sprays  of 
apple  blossoms,  brought  from  far !  ' '  Cozy  corners  looked 
like  fragments  of  a  lower  altitude,  and  the  faithful  palm 
was  on  duty  everywhere.  The  orchestra,  on  a  suspended 
balcony  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  was  invisible  within  the 
same  elaborate  scheme  of  decoration. 

"When  Ora  entered  with  her  husband  the  Grand  March 
had  finished  and  the  instruments  were  tuning  for  a  waltz. 
She  saw  Ida  standing  directly  under  the  orchestra  sur 
rounded  by  several  men  who  patently  were   clamouring 
for  dances.    Even  in  that  great  room  full  of  women  dressed 
from  New  York  and  Paris,   Ida  looked  distinctive   and 
superb.     Ora  smiled  proudly,  as  she  observed  her,  quite 
oblivious  that  the  throng  of  men  and  women  and  indignant 
"squabs,"  who  had  been  discussing  the  wife  of  Gregory 
Compton,  had  transferred  their  attention  to  the  dazzling 
apparition  in  white.     Ida  wore  her  gown  of  coral  silk, 
whose   flimsiness   was   concealed   under   a  mist   of  black 
shadow  lace.     The  coral  beads  clasped  her  strong  white 
throat  and  fell  to  her  supple  waist.     There  was  a  twist 
of  coral  tulle  in  her  black  hair,  which  was  arranged  in 
the  rolling  fashion  of  the  moment,  obeyed  by  every  other 
woman  in  the  room  save  Ora  Blake.    And  her  cheeks,  her 
lips   were  as  coral  as  the  fruit  of  the  sea.     She  had  pow 
dered  her  face  lightly  to  preserve  its  tone  through  exercise 
and  heat.     All  the  arrogance  of  youth  and  beauty  and 

115 


116     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

powerful  magnetism  was  expressed  in  the  high  poise  of 
her  head ;  a  faint  smile  of  triumph  curved  above  her  little 
white  teeth ;  her  body  was  in  perfect  repose  yet  as  alert  as 
that  of  a  healthy  young  cat.  The  waltz  began  and  she 
glided  off  in  the  arm  of  a  young  mining  engineer  from 
the  East.  She  danced  precisely  as  the  best-bred  women 
in  the  room  danced  (early  in  the  evening)  :  ease  without 
abandon,  dignity  without  stiffness. 

"Heavens,  but  the  American  woman  is  adaptable!" 
thought  Ora.  "I  never  realised  before  exactly  what  that 
time-worn  platitude  meant.  Probably  the  standards  in  the 
Ida  set  are  not  so  different  from  ours,  after  all.  As  for 
looks  and  carriage  she  might  have  three  generations  behind 
her.  Is  it  democracy  or  the  actress  instinct  of  woman — 
permitted  its  full  development  in  this  country  for  the 
first  time  in  her  history?" 

This  was  not  entirely  a  monologue,  but  addressed  for 
the  most  part  to  Professor  Becke,  one  of  the  most  distin 
guished  instructors  of  the  School  of  Mines,  and  one  of  the 
men  she  liked  best  in  Butte.  He  was  a  tall  fair  man,  with 
a  keen  thin  fimbriated  face,  and  long  fine  hands.  Ora 
made  a  point  of  asking  him  to  dine  with  her  once  or  twice 
a  month. 

He  led  the  way  to  two  of  the  chairs  on  the  side  of  the 
hall  after  she  had  announced  that  she  did  not  intend  to 
dance. 

"But  this  is  the  first  party  we  have  had  for  weeks,"  he 
said.  "They  won't  leave  you  to  me  for  long." 

"I  don't  feel  in  the  mood  for  dancing.  Besides,"  she 
added  with  a  new  daring,  "I'm  all  in  white  and  looking 
very  white  once  more;  I  don't  want  to  get  warm  and 
spoil  the  effect." 

He  stared  into  her  challenging  eyes  as  if  he  saw  her 
for  the  first  time.  In  that  room,  full  of  colour  and  of 
vivid  women  and  young  girls,  she  produced  an  almost 
disconcerting  effect  with  her  statuesque  beauty,  her  gleam 
ing  whiteness,  her  frail  white  body  so  daringly  displayed 
in  its  white  gown.  And,  oddly  enough,  to  those  staring 
at  her,  she  made  the  other  women  look  not  only  common 
place  but  cold. 

Ora  smiled  to  herself;  she  was  quite  aware  of  the  im 
pression  at  work,  not  only  on  the  scientific  brain,  but  on 
others  more  readily  responsive;  she  had  considered  the 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     117 

prudence  of  practising  on  Butte  before  departing  for 
wider  fields. 

The  Professor  changed  colour,  but  replied  steadily: 
' l  Fancy  you  two  extraordinary  creatures  loose  in  Europe ! 
You  should  take  a  bodyguard.  I  can  understand  Compton 
giving  his  consent,  for  he  is  the  kind  of  man  that  wouldn't 
remember  whether  his  wife  were  twenty  or  forty  at  the 
end  of  his  honeymoon,  and  there  can  be  little  between  them 
in  any  case.  But  Blake ! ' ' 

"Oh,  we'll  come  home  without  a  scandal,"  said  Ora 
lightly.  ' '  Ida  is  the  reverse  of  what  she  looks,  and  I — well, 
I  am  the  proverbial  'cold'  American  woman — that  the 
European  anathematises.  Ida,  of  course,  looks  the  siren, 
and  I  shall  have  some  trouble  protecting  her,  until 
she  learns  how  far  she  can  go.  But  at  least  I  am  fore 
warned." 

"I  fancy  you  will  have  more  trouble  protecting  your 
self!"  Professor  Becke's  voice  was  not  as  even  as  usual. 
His  intellect  was  brilliant  and  illuminating,  and  never 
more  so  than  when  in  the  society  of  this  young  woman 
whom  heretofore  he  had  admired  merely  as  a  vivacious 
and  exceptional  mind;  but,  startling  as  this  revelation  of 
subtle  and  alluring  womanhood  was,  he  remembered  that 
he  was  no  longer  young  and  that  he  had  an  admirable 
wife  with  an  eagle  eye;  he  had  no  intention  of  scorching 
his  fingers  in  the  attempt  to  light  a  flame  that  would  guide 
him  to  the  rocks  even  were  he  invited  to  apply  the  torch. 
But  he  was  a  man  and  he  sighed  a  little  for  his  vanished 
youth.  If  he  had  been  twenty  years  younger  he  fancied 
that  he  would  have  forgotten  his  good  lady  and  risked 
burning  his  heart  out.  He  moved  his  eyes  away  deliber 
ately  and  they  rested  on  Mark  Blake,  mopping  his  scarlet 
face  after  a  lively  waltz.  He  was  a  kindly  man,  but  all 
that  was  deathlessly  masculine  in  him  grinned  with  a 
cynical  satisfaction. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Ora  abruptly,  and  forgetting  a 
faint  sensation  of  pique. 

"Ah!    Who?" 

She  indicated  a  man  leaning  against  one  of  the  door 
ways,  and  looking  over  the  crowd  with  unseeing  eyes. 
"Heavens!  What  a  jaw!  Is  he  as  'strong'  as  he  looks,  or 
is  he  one  of  Bismarck's  wooden  posts  painted  to  look  like 
a  man  of  iron? — Why,  it's " 


118    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"That  is  Gregory  Compton,  and  he  is  no  wooden  post, 
believe  me." 

"I  haven't  seen  him  for  years.  Can  any  man  be  as 
strong  as  he  looks  ?" 

"Probably  not.  He  hasn't  had  time  to  discover  his 
master  weaknesses  yet,  so  I  don't  pretend  to  guess  at  them 
myself.  At  present  he  is  too  absorbed  in  squeezing  our 
poor  brains  dry " 

"Doesn't  he  ever  smile?" 

"So  rarely  that  the  boys,  who  have  a  nickname  for  all 
their  fellow  students,  call  him  'Sunny  Jim.'  " 

"What  do  you  think  of  his  wife?"  asked  Ora  abruptly. 
She  hardly  knew  why  she  asked  the  question,  nor  why 
she  felt  a  secret  glow  at  the  expected  answer. 

The  Professor  turned  his  appraising  eye  upon  the  sub 
stantial  vision  in  coral  and  black  that  tonight  had  been 
pronounced  the  handsomest  woman  in  Butte.  "There 
could  be  no  finer  example  of  the  obvious.  All  her  goods 
are  in  the  front  window.  There  are  no  surprises  behind 
that  superlative  beauty;  certainly  no  revelations." 

"I  wonder!  Ida  is  far  cleverer  than  you  think,  and 
quite  capable  of  affording  your  sex  a  good  deal  in  the  way 
of  surprises,  not  to  say  shocks." 

"Not  in  the  way  I  mean — not  as  you  will  do,  worse 
luck  for  my  helpless  sex.  There  is  no  soul  there,  and,  I 
fancy,  little  heart.  She  is  the  last  woman  Gregory  Comp 
ton  should  have  married." 

"Why?"    Ora  tried  to  look  bored  but  polite. 

"Oh — whatever  she  may  have  for  other  men  she  has 
nothing  for  him.  She  looks  the  concentrated  essence  of 
female — American  female — egoism.  Compton  needs  a 
woman  who  would  give  him  companionship  when  he  wanted 
it,  and,  at  the  same  time,  be  willing  in  service." 

Ora  bristled.  "Service?  How  like  a  man.  Are  we 
still  ^  expected  to  serve  men?  I  thought  the  world  was 
moving  on." 

Professor  Becke,  who,  like  most  men  married  to  a  do 
mestic  commander-in-chief,  was  strenuously  opposed  to 
giving  women  any  powers  backed  up  by  law,  asked  with 
cold  reserve :  ' '  Are  you  a  suffragette  ? ' ' 

Ora  laughed.  "Not  yet.  But  I  just  escaped  being  born 
in  the  Twentieth  Century.  I  belong  to  it  at  all  events." 

"So  you  do,  but  you  never  have  been  in  love "    He 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     119 

broke  off  in  embarrassment;  he  had  forgotten  for  the  mo 
ment  that  this  white  virginal  creature  had  been  married 
for  six  years.  She  showed  no  resentment,  for  she  barely 
had  heard  him;  she  was  looking  at  Gregory  Compton 
again,  and  concluding  that  he  might  appeal  strongly  to 
the  supplementary  female,  but  must  antagonise  women 
whose  highly  specialised  intellects,  at  home  only  on  the 
heights  of  civilisation,  had  submerged  their  primal  inheri 
tance. 

Professor  Becke  went  on: 

"Even  a  clever  woman's  best  career  is  a  man.  If  you. 
women  develop  beyond  nature  that  powerful  old  tyrant 
will  simply  snuff  you  out." 

"Well,  man  will  go  too.  That  may  be  our  final 
triumph. ' ' 

"Atlantis  over  again!  And  quite  in  order  that  the 
race  should  perish  through  the  excesses  of  woman.  Then 
Nature,  having  wiped  her  slate  clean  with  a  whoop,  will 
begin  all  over  again  and  precisely  where  she  did  before. 
No  doubt  she  will  permit  a  few  records  to  survive  as  a 
warning. ' ' 

' '  You  may  be  right — but,  although  I  have  an  idea  I  shall 
one  day  want  to  justify  my  existence  by  being  of  some 
use,  it  won't  be  because  my  sex  instinct  has  got  the  better 
of  my  intelligence.  But  I  refuse  to  think  of  that  until  I 
have  had  a  royal  good  time  for  a  few  years." 

"That  is  your  right,"  he  said  impulsively.  "You  are 
altogether  exceptional — and  you  have  had  six  years  of 
Butte !  I  am  glad  your  mine  has  panned  out  so  splendidly. 
There  is  quite  an  excitement  in  the  Sampling  Works " 

"What?"  Ora  forgot  Gregory  Compton.  "I  knew  the 
mine  was  doing  well — 

' '  Surely  you  know  that  your  profits  in  royalties  already 

must  be  something  over  a  hundred  thousand  dollars " 

He  stopped  in  confusion. 

Ora's  face  was  radiant  and  she  never  had  liked  Mark 
as  sincerely  as  at  that  moment.  "It  is  just  like  him !  He 
wanted  to  wait  and  give  me  a  great  surprise — my  husband, 
I  mean." 

"And  I  have  spoilt  it!  I  am  really  sorry.  Please  don't 
teU  him." 

"I  won't.  And  I'll  be  the  most  surprised  woman  in 
the  world  when  he  takes  me  to  the  bank  to  sign  my  letter 


120    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

of  credit.  You  needn't  mind.  I'll  have  the  fun  of  think 
ing  about  it  for  five  months — and  rolling  it  up  in  my 
imagination.  Ah ! ' ' 

"Compton  has  recognised  you,  I  think. " 

Ora  had  met  the  long  narrow  concentrated  gaze  of 
her  husband's  friend.  She  bowed  slightly.  Compton 
made  a  step  forward,  hesitated,  braced  himself,  and  walked 
toward  her. 

"A  constitutionally  shy  man,  but  a  brave  one,"  said 
Professor  Becke  with  a  grim  smile,  as  he  rose  to  resign 
his  seat.  "A  strong  magnet  has  pulled  up  many  a  sinking 
heart.  Good  evening,  Compton.  Glad  you  honour  our 
party,  even  if  you  don't  dance. " 

"I  intend  to  ask  Mrs.  Blake  to  dance."  Gregory  be 
trayed  nothing  of  his  inner  trepidation  although  he  did 
not  smile.  He  could  always  rely  upon  the  stern  mask 
into  which  he  had  trained  his  visage  not  to  betray  him. 

Ora,  oblivious  of  her  resolution  not  to  dance,  rose  and 
placed  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  smiling  an  absent  fare 
well  to  Professor  Becke.  For  a  moment  she  forgot  her 
resentful  interest  in  this  man  in  her  astonishment  that  he 
danced  so  well.  She  had  the  impression  of  dancing  with 
a  light  supple  creature  of  the  woods,  one  who  could  be 
quite  abandoned  if  he  chose,  although  he  held  her  as  if  he 
were  embracing  a  feather.  She  wondered  if  it  were  his 
drop  of  aboriginal  blood  and  looked  up  suddenly.  To  her 
surprise  he  was  smiling,  and  his  smile  so  altered  the  im 
mobility  of  his  face  that  she  lost  her  breath. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  were  dancing  with  a  snowflake,"  was  his 
unexpected  remark. 

You  look  the  last  man  to  pay  compliments  and  murmur 
sweet  nothings." 

"Are  you  disappointed?" 

"Perhaps  I  am.  I  rather  liked  your  attitude— expres 
sion,  rather — of  cool  superiority." 

"Why  don't  you  use  the  word  prig?" 

"Oh,  no!— Well,  perhaps  that  is  what  I  did  mean." 

He  stopped  short,  regardless  of  the  annoyance  he  caused 
several  impetuous  couples.  "If  you  did  I  shall  leave  you 
right  here." 

"I  did  not.  Please  go  on.  Everybody  is  staring  at  us. 
You  took  me  completely  by  surprise." 

"I?    Why?" 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     121 

"You  are  the  last  man  I  should  expect  the  usual  small 
talk  from." 

1  'Small  talk?  Heavens  knows  I  have  none  of  that. 
Girls  used  to  talk  my  head  off  in  self-defence.  I  merely 
said  what  I  thought.  What  did  you  expect  me  to  talk 

pxratf" 

"Oh— mines,  I  suppose."  Again,  to  her  surprise,  his 
face  lit  up  as  if  by  an  inner  and  jealously  hidden  torch. 
But  he  said  soberly : 

''Well,  there  is  no  more  interesting  subject.  Never  has 
been  since  the  world  began.  Where  shall  we  find  a  seat?" 

The  waltz  was  over.  The  chairs  were  filling.  Young 
couples  were  flitting  toward  the  embowered  corners. 

''Let's  go  outside,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"What?  On  the  street?  And  nobody  goes  out  of  doors 
from  a  ball  room  in  June." 

"Good  reason  for  going.     Come  with  me." 

He  led  her  to  the  cloak  room.  "Get  your  wrap,"  he 
said. 

Ora  frowned,  but  she  asked  for  her  heavy  white  woollen 
wrap  and  put  it  on ;  then  automatically  followed  him  down 
the  stairs  and  into  the  street. 

"Why  don't  you  get  your  coat  and  hat?"  she  asked, 
still  dazed.  "It's  cold,  you  know." 

' '  I  never  was  cold  in  my  life, ' '  he  said  contemptuously. 
Ee  hailed  a  taxi.  "I  must  go  up  to  the  School  of  Mines, 
and  ask  the  result  of  some  assaying,"  he  added  as  he 
almost  lifted  her  in.  "Then  we  can  talk  up  there.  May 
I  smoke?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do." 

He  smiled  directly  into  her  resentful  eyes  this  time  and 
tucked  the  lap-robe  about  her. 


XX 

1-J  E  apparently  forgot  her  during  the  short  drive  and 
stared  through  the  open  window  of  the  cab,  his 
thoughts,  no  doubt,  in  the  assay  room  of  the  School,  where 
several  students,  as  ardent  as  himself,  were  experimenting 
with  ore  they  had  managed  to  secure  from  a  recently 
opened  mine.  Ora's  resentment  vanished,  partly  because 
she  reflected  that  a  new  and  original  experience  was  a 
boon  to  be  grateful  for  in  Butte,  but  more  because  she 
was  thrilled  with  the  sense  of  adventure.  Her  woman's 
instinct  gave  assurance  that  he  had  no  intention  of  making 
love  to  her,  but  it  also  whispered  that,  whether  she  liked 
or  disliked  him  when  the  adventure  was  over,  she  would 
have  something  to  remember.  And  it  was  the  first  time 
she  ever  had  indulged  in  recklessness.  Butte  would  be  by 
the  ears  on  the  morrow  if  it  learned  of  her  escapade. 

When  they  reached  the  dark  School  of  Mines  he  dis 
missed  the  taxi,  and  said  to  Ora,  "Wait  for  me  here.  I 
shan't  be  a  moment." 

He  disappeared  and  Ora  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  sat 
down  on  the  steps.  He  returned  in  a  few  moments  and 
extended  himself  over  several  steps  below  her 

"Comfortable?"  he  asked. 

"Very!" 

"It's  a  night,  isn't  it?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

He  was  not  looking  at  her  but  at  the  low  sulphurous 
blue  sky,  with  its  jewelled  lattice,  white,  yellow,  green, 
blue.  There  were  no  tree-tops  to  rustle,  but  from  the 
window  below  came  the  voluptuous  strains  of  the  Merry 
Widow  waltz,  mingling  incongruously  with  the  raucous 
noises  of  the  sleepless  town:  the  roaring  street-cars,  the 
blasts  of  engines,  the  monstrous  purr  of  motor-cats. 

"If  we  could  cut  out  that  jungle,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 
"Are  you  warm  enough?"  He  pulled  the  cloak  about 
the  lower  part  of  her  body.  "I  should  have  taken  the 

rug  from  the  cab " 

122 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     123 

"I  am  warm  enough,"  she  said  impatiently,  and  what 
she  longed  to  say  was,  "How  in  heaven's  name  did  you 
marry  Ida  Hook?"  He  had  transferred  his  gaze  to  the 
city  and  she  studied  his  face.  Then  she  understood.  In 
spite  of  its  intense  reserve  and  detachment,  its  strength 
and  power,  its  thin  sensitive  mouth,  it  was  the  most  pas 
sionate  face  she  had  ever  seen.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she 
had  been  at  pains  to  ignore  the  purely  masculine  side  of 
men,  her  fastidious  mind  never  indulging  in  comparisons. 
She  half  rose  with  a  sense  of  panic.  Again  he  looked  up 
solicitously. 

"I  am  sure  you  are  not  comfortable.  I  could  nnd  you 
some  cushions — 

"Please  don't.  So  you  love  beauty?"  She  was  deeply 
annoyed  with  herself,  but  could  think  of  nothing  less 
banal.  He  certainly  was  not  easy  to  talk  to. 

"Don't  you?  It  would  be  odd  if  you  didn't.  One  rea 
son  I  brought  you  up  here  was  because  I  wanted  to  look  at 
you  in  the  starlight  where  you  belong — the  cold  starlight — 
not  in  that  crowded  gaudy  room  full  of  mere  human 
beings." 

*  *  Are  you  a  poet  ?  I  have  somehow  received  the  impres 
sion  that  you  are  a  mere  walking  ambition. ' ' 

"I'm  no  poet  if  you  mean  one  of  those  writing  fellows." 
His  tone  expressed  unmitigated  scorn. 

"Well,  no  doubt  you  have  read  a  good  deal  of  poetry, 
little  as  one  would  suspect  it." 

"Never  read  a  line  of  it  except  when  I  had  to  decline 
it  at  school — any  more  than  I've  ever  read  a  line  of  fic 
tion." 

"Well,  you've  missed  a  great  deal,"  said  Ora  tartly. 
"Poetry  is  an  essential  part  of  the  beauty  of  the  world, 
which  you  seem  to  appreciate.  And  the  best  of  fiction  is 
the  best  expression  of  current  history.  What  do  you  think 
when  you  star-gaze?" 

"You  mean,  can  I  think  at  all  when  I  haven't  read  what 
other  men  have  thought?" 

"No. — No  doubt  the  most  original  brains  are  those  that 
have  not  read  too  much,  are  not  choked  up."  Ora  made 
this  admission  reluctantly,  but  he  had  caught  her  fairly. 
"Tell  me  at  least  what  the  stars  suggest  to  you.  About 
everything  has  been  said  of  them  that  can  be  said.  The 
poor  old  stars  have  been  worked  to  death." 


124    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

' '  The  stars  above  Montana  are  watchfires  protecting  the 
treasure  below.  Perhaps  they  are  bits  of  her  treasures, 
gold,  silver,  copper,  sapphire,  that  flew  upward  in  the  final 
cataclysm. ' ' 

*  *  I  don 't  know  whether  that  is  poetical  or  gross  material 
ism." 

1  'No  mines,  no  poets.  Nearly  all  conquest  from  the 
dawn  of  history  down  to  the  Boer  War  has  had  the  ac 
quisition  of  mineral  wealth  as  its  real  object.  The  civilisa 
tion  that  follows  is  incidental;  it  merely  means  that  the 
strongest  race,  which,  of  course,  knows  the  most,  wins.  If 
ever  we  have  a  war  with  Mexico,  what  will  be  the  cause? 
Mines.  Incidentally  we  will  civilise  her.  Peru,  Mexico, 
India,  the  Americas — all  have  been  invaded  in  their  turn 
by  more  civilised  nations,  and  all  after  plunder.  They 
gave  as  much  as  they  took,  but  little  they  cared  about 
that.  What  opened  up  California?  This  great  North 
west  ?  Prospectors  in  search  of  gold.  Excuse  this  lecture. 
I  am  the  least  talkative  of  men,  but  you  have  jarred  my 
brain,  somehow.  Read  the  history  of  mines  and  mining 
if  you  want  romance." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  few  things  interest  me  more.  I 
am  so  glad  my  mine  has  been  leased  for  a  year  only. 
When  that  is  up  I  am  going  to  mine  it  myself.  I'll  build 
a  bungalow  out  there  and  go  down  every  day.  Perhaps 
in  time  I  could  be  my  own  manager.  At  all  events,  think 
of  the  excitement  of  watching  the  ore  as  it  comes  up  the 
shaft;  of  running  through  a  lean  vein  and  coming  sud 
denly  upon  a  chamber  of  an  entirely  different  kind  of 
ore  from  what  you  had  been  taking  out.  Great  shoots 
full  of  free  gold!  Wire  gold!  Or  that  crisp  brown-gold 
that  looks  as  if  it  were  boiling  out  of  the  ore  and  makes 
one  want  to  bite  it!  Why  are  you  staring  so  at  me?" 

His  eyes  were  more  widely  opened  and  brilliant  than 
she  had  seen  them.  "Do  you  mean  that?"  he  asked. 
"I've  a  great  notion  to  tell  you  something  that  I've  not 
told  anyone." 

"Do  tell  me!" 

She  leaned  down  eagerly.  She  had  dismissed  the  feeling 
of  panic  as  something  to  be  forgotten  as  quickly  as  possible. 
But  her  brain  was  on  fire  to  penetrate  his.  She  felt  an 
extraordinary  mental  stimulation.  But  he  relapsed  into 
absolute  silence,  although  he  held  his  head,  lowered  again, 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     125 

at  an  angle  that  suggested  he  might  be  thinking  intently. 
She  moved  impatiently,  but  he  sat  still,  staring  downward, 
his  eyes  narrow  once  more.  She  noticed  irrelevantly  how 
black  his  hair  was,  and  her  white  hand  went  out  stealthily 
as  if  magnetised,  but  was  immediately  restored  to  order. 
In  the  vibrating  silence  she  had  another  glimmer  of  under 
standing.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  something  personal,  but 
his  natural  secretiveness  and  habit  of  reserve  were  engaged 
in  a  struggle  with  the  unusual  impulse.  She  shifted  the 
ground. 

1  ll  wish  you  would  tell  me  something  of  your  boy 
hood/'  she  said  abruptly. 

He  looked  up  in  astonishment.  "I  never  talk  about 
myself " 

"How  very  egoistical." 

"Ego— 

"No,  I  did  not  say  egotistical." 

"Ah!"  There  was  another  pause,  although  he  looked 
at  her  with  a  frown.  "I  have  talked  to  you  more  than 
I  ever  talk  to  anyone,"  he  said  resentfully. 

"It  is  the  stars,  to  say  nothing  of  the  isolation.  We 
might  be  up  on  one  of  your  escaped  nuggets.  Remember 
that  I  have  heard  of  you  constantly  for  six  years — and 
met  you  before  on  one  of  those  occasions  when  all  persons 
look  alike.  How  could  I  escape  curiosity?" 

"I  brought  you  out  to  look  at  in  the  proper  setting.  I 
can't  say  I  had  any  desire  to  talk  to  you.  I  suppose  I 
should  not  keep  you  out  here — 

"I  am  much  happier  and  more  comfortable  than  in  that 
hot  room.  But  surely  you  need  more  recreation.  Why 
do  you  never  go  to  dances?" 

"Dances?  I?  I  only  went  tonight "  He,  too,  appar 
ently,  was  determined  to  keep  their  respective  spouses 
out  of  the  conversation,  for  he  veered  off  quickly.  "It  is  a 
sort  of  religion  to  attend  the  Prom  even  if  you  only  show 
yourself.  I  was  about  to  beat  a  retreat  when  I  saw  you. 
Of  course  it  was  my  duty  to  shake  hands.  Besides,  I 
wanted  to  see  if  you  were  real."  And  he  smiled  up  into 
her  eyes. 

"Do  you  know  that  we  are  flirting?" 

1 '  Well,  let  us  flirt, ' '  he  replied  comfortably.  ' '  I  haven 't 
the  least  idea  what  it  is,  but  I  am  not  a  bit  in  love  with 
you,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 


126     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Ora  drew  herself  up  rigidly.  "Well,  you  are "  she 

began,  aware  that  she  had  a  temper.  Then  she  laughed. 
Why  quarrel  with  a  novel  experience?  Her  anger  turned 
into  a  more  subtle  emotion.  She  was  well  aware  of  the 
dazzling  brightness  of  her  eyes.  She  leaned  forward  and 
concentrated  her  mind  in  an  attempt  to  project  her  mag 
netism  through  them,  although  again  with  a  feeling  of 
panic  j  it  was  too  much  like  the  magnet  rushing  out  to  the 
iron. 

He  returned  that  powerful  gaze  unmoved,  although  an 
expression  of  perplexity  crossed  his  own  eyes.  She  was 
disconcerted  and  asked  lamely: 

"Is  it  true  that  you  used  to  run  away  and  prospect  in 
the  mountains?" 

His  face  lit  up  with  an  enthusiasm  her  fascinations  had 
been  unable  to  inspire;  and  a  richer  note  came  into  his 
voice.  "I  was  eleven  the  first  time  and  stayed  out  for  six 
months.  Two  years  after  I  ran  away  again.  The  next 
time  I  went  with  my  father's  permission.  I  worked  in 
one  of  the  Butte  mines  one  summer — but  otherwise — well, 
you  see,  there  is  a  good  deal  to  do  on  a  ranch.  This  is  the 
first  time  I  have  been  able  to  do  as  I  please." 

Ora  looked  at  his  long  slim  figure,  his  brown  hands  that 
tonight,  at  least,  expressed  a  sort  of  cruel  deliberate  repose. 
Whatever  they  may  have  been  in  their  ranch  days  they 
were  smooth  and  well  cared  for  now. 

"Somehow,  I  can't  see  you  handling  a  pick,"  she  said 
doubtfully.  "Is  it  true  that  you  intend  to  work  .in  the 
mines  all  summer?" 

"Part  of  it — when  I  am  not  working  in  a  mill  or  a 
smelter.  I'd  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  couldn't  do  any 
thing  that  another  man  can  do.  Some  of  the  best  miners 
look  like  rats." 

He  looked  like  a  highly-bred  mettlesome  race-horse  him 
self,  and  Ora  wondered,  as  she  had  before  tonight :  ' '  Where 
did  he  get  it?  Who  were  his  ancestors?"  She  had  seen 
dukes  that  looked  like  farm  hands,  and  royal  princesses 
that  might  have  been  upper  housemaids,  but  her  feminine 
(and  American)  mind  clung  to  the  fallacy  that  it  takes 
generations  to  produce  the  clean-cut  shell.  She  determined 
to  look  up  his  family  tree  in  Holland. 

"Well — Ouster — my  housekeeper — will  look  after  you," 
she  said  as  naturally  as  if  her  thoughts  had  not  wandered 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     127 

for  a  moment.  "Shall  you  do  any  mining  on  your  own 
place  before  we  come  back  from  Europe?" 

He  started  and  looked  at  her  apprehensively,  then 
scowled. 

"What  is  the  matter?  You  may  not  know  it  but  at  this 
moment  your  face  looks  like  an  Indian  battle-axe." 

To  her  surprise  he  laughed  boyishly.  "You  startled 
me.  I  have  heard  of  mind  readers.  Well,  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  wanted  to  a  while  back.  But  you  must  promise 
not  to  tell — anyone." 

"I  promise!  I  swear  it!  And  do  hurry.  I'm  afraid 
you'll  shut  up  tight  again." 

"No,  I  won't.  I  don't  know  that  I'd  tell  you  were  it  not 
that  your  own  mine  is  just  over  the  border;  we  may  have 
to  consolidate  some  day  to  save  a  lawsuit — No,  I  will  be 
honest;  I  really  want  to  tell  you.  It  is  this:  Close  to  the 
northeast  boundary  line  of  my  ranch  is  an  almost  barren 
hill  of  limestone  and  granite.  Shortly  before  I  left — last 
October — I  discovered  float  on  the  side  of  the  hill.  There 
is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  we  have  both  come  upon  a 
new  mineral  belt,  although  whether  we  are  in  the  middle 
or  on  one  edge  of  it  is  another  question." 

He  told  her  the  story  of  the  storm  and  of  the  uncovering 
of  the  float.  Nor  did  he  end  his  confidence  with  a  bare 
statement  of  fact.  He  told  her  of  his  sensations  as  he  sat 
on  the  ragged  ground  leaning  against  the  roots  of  the 
slain  trees,  his  mental  struggle,  and  final  resolution.  Then 
he  told  her  of  the  hopes  and  dreams  of  his  boyhood,  and 
what  it  had  meant  to  him — this  sudden  revelation  that 
he  had  a  mine  under  his  feet — and  all  his  own !  He  talked 
for  half  an  hour,  with  the  deep  satisfaction  that  only  a 
shy^and  silent  person  feels  when  talking  into  a  sympa 
thetic  mind  for  the  first  time.  Ora  listened  with  a  curious 
sense  of  excitement,  as  if  she  were  overboard  in  a  warm 
and  pleasant  but  unknown  sea.  There  were  times  when 
she  felt  like  talking  very  fast  herself.  But  she  did  nothing 
of  the  sort,  merely  jogging  him  diplomatically  when  he 
showed  signs  of  relapsing  into  silence.  Finally  he  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  said  abruptly : 

" That's  all." 

"Qh!  And  you  really  have  made  up  your  mind  not  to 
begin  work  for  a  year?" 

"Quite!" 


128     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"But — have  you  thought — it  is  only  tonight  I  learned 
that  the  engineers  who  leased  my  mine  have  struck  a  rich 
vein.  Suppose  it  dips  toward  yours " 

-It  does " 

"Have  they  put  on  a  big  force?" 

"Naturally.  They  are  rushing  things,  as  they  know  they 
will  not  get  the  mine  another  year." 

"Well,  suppose  their  vein  runs  under  your  hill — through 
their  side  line?" 

He  stirred  uneasily.  "I  am  watching  them.  So  far 
the  dip  is  very  slight.  It  may  take  a  turn,  or  go  down 
straight ;  or, "  and  he  smiled  at  her  again,  '  *  it  may  pinch 
out.  Nothing  is  so  uncertain  as  an  ore  vein." 

^Do  you  think  it  will?"  asked  Ora  anxiously. 

"No,  don't  worry.  I  was  down  the  other  day;  and  did 
some  prospecting  on  my  own  account  besides.  I  think 
you've  got  a  big  mine." 

"But  suppose,  the  vein  should  take  a  sudden  dip  to  the 
right — you  don't  want  them  burrowing  under  your  hill 

"They  won't  burrow  under  my  hill,"  he  said  grimly. 
"I  should  persuade  them  that  there  was  an  even  richer 
vein  on  their  left." 

"Is  there?" 

"I  have  reason  to  think  so.  They  naturally  would  want 
to  avoid  the  expenses  of  a  lawsuit,  and  of  course  they 
would  waste  a  lot  of  time  sinking  a  shaft  or  driving  across. 
Their  lease  would  be  pretty  well  up  by  the  time " 

:'You  are  cold-blooded!  What  of  me?  I  should  be 
making  nothing,  either." 

'' You'd  make  it  all  later  on.  How  much  do  you  expect 
to  spend  in  Europe  anyway?  You  must  have  made  a 
thousand  dollars  a  day  since  the  first  car  load  of  ore  was 
smelted." 

She  was  on  the  point  of  replying  that  a  woman  could 
not  have  enough  money  in  Europe,  when  she  remembered 
the  conspiracy  to  make  him  believe  that  a  thousand  dollars 
would  cover  the  expenses  of  his  wife. 

"Oh,  it  is  merely  that  I  don't  like  being  one  of  the 
pawns  in  your  game,"  she  said. 

"You'd  have  all  the  more  later  on.  Ore  doesn't  run 
away. ' ' 

"How  can  you  stay  away  from  your  mine?     I  feel 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     129 

after  all  that  you  have  told  me ! — that  you  are  wild  to  get 
at  it?" 

"So  I  am!  So  I  am!  But  I  said  I  wouldn't  and  that 
is  the  end  of  it.  I  want  that  last  year  at  the  School. ' ' 

''What  shall  you  do  with  all  that  money — if  your  hill 
turns  out  to  be  full  of  gold?  More,  I  hope,  than  the  rest 
of  our  millionaires  have  done  for  Montana — which  is  ex 
actly  nothing.  You  might  give  the  State  a  complete  irri 
gating  system." 

"Good  idea!  Perhaps  I  will.  But  that  is  in  the  future. 
I  want  the  fun  first " 

"Fun?  It  is  the  passion  of  your  life,  your  great  ro 
mance.  You'll  never  love  a  woman  like  that." 

"Of  course  not."  But  he  was  staring  at  her.  He  had  a 
sensation  of  something  swimming  in  the  depths  of  his 
mind,  striving  to  reach  the  surface.  He  changed  his  posi 
tion  suddenly  and  sat  up.  "And  you?"  he  asked.  "You 
have  the  same  vision.  Couldn't  you  feel  the  same  absorb 
ing  passion " 

"For  ore?"  The  scorn  of  her  entire  sex  was  in  her 
voice.  "Dead  cold  metal -" 

"Every  molecule,  every  individual  atom  is  alive  and 
quivering ' ' 

"I  am  not  interested  in  chemistry." 

He  still  stared  at  her.  Her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  her  eyes 
blazing.  She  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Ida  is  the  wife  for  you !  She'll  never  ask  much  of  you 
and  you  never  could  hurt  her,  not  even  if  you  tried.  She 
is  fortunate  in  lacking  just  that  which  you  could  hurt." 

"What  is  it?"  He  spoke  eagerly.  He,  too,  had  risen, 
his  eyes  still  on  her  face.  Unconsciously  he  held  his  breath. 

"Oh,  you  wouldn't  understand  if  I  told  you— and  I 
haven't  the  least  desire  to  tell  you.  She  will  make  you 
comfortable,  do  you  credit  when  you  are  a  rich  man, 
spend  your  money  royally.  That  is  all  you  will  ask  of 
her.  Now,  I'll  go  back." 

He  was  a  step  or  two  below  her.  Their  eyes  were  on 
a  level.  He  looked  at  her  sombrely  for  a  moment,  then 
walked  past  her  up  the  steps. 

"You  need  not  call  a  cab.  I  shall  go  home.  I  should 
only  set  them  all  talking  if  I  appeared  in  the  ballroom 
again.  You  can  tell  Mark  that  I  didn't  feel  well  and  that 
you  took  me  home,1' 


130    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

They  walked  along  the  high  terrace  until  they  found  a 
point  of  easy  descent. 

"What  have  I  said  to  make  you  angry?"  he  asked. 

Ora  laughed  with  determined  good  humour.  "It  was 
not  I.  It  was  merely  my  sex  that  flared  up.  Please  for 
get  it." 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done  for 
Ida, ' '  he  said  abruptly,  and  it  was  evident  that  the  words 
cost  him  more  than  his  former  revelations.  "It  was  a 
great  thing  for  you  to  do." 

"Oh,  Ida  has  become  my  most  intimate  friend.  I  have 
never  enjoyed  Butte  so  much  as  in  these  last  few  months." 

"Has  she?  And  Mark  is  my  best  friend."  He  jerked 
his  head  in  annoyance;  manifestly  the  remark  had  been 
too  spontaneous.  They  were  before  her  gate.  She  ex 
tended  a  limp  hand,  but  he  held  it  firmly.  He  was  smiling 
again  although  he  looked  depressed. 

"Do  give  me  a  friendly  shake,"  he  said.  "I  do  like  you 
and  you  will  be  going  in  a  few  days." 

"I  do  not  go  for  five  months." 

"You  can  go  next  week.    I'll  square  it  with  Mark." 

"I  don't  wish  to  go  next  week.  Besides,  Mark  expects 
some  important  people  here  in  the  autumn,  and  needs  my 
help.  He  has  a  deal  on." 

"I'll  dispossess  Mark  of  any  such  notion.  It's  all  non 
sense,  this  idea  of  a  man's  needing  his  wife's  help  in  busi 
ness.  It's  a  poor  sort  of  man  that  can't  manage  his  own 
affairs,  and  Mark  is  not  a  poor  sort.  Now,  you  are  angry 
again ! ' ' 

"That  would  be  foolish  of  me,"  she  said  icily.  "You 
merely  don't  understand.  You  never  could.  Do  you  want 
to  get  rid  of  me?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do." 

Then  Ora  relented.  She  also  gave  him  the  smile  that 
she  reserved  as  her  most  devastating  weapon.  "I  am 
sorry,"  she  murmured,  "but  I  don't  think  I  can  be  ready 
for  at  least  three  months.  Nor  Ida." 

"You  go  next  week,"  he  said. 

And  go  they  did. 


XXI 

GREGORY  and  Mark  established  their  wives  comfor 
tably  in  a  drawing-room  of  the  limited  for  Chicago, 
asked  the  usual  masculine  questions  about  tickets  and  trunk 
checks,  expressed  their  masculine  surprise  that  nothing 
had  been  forgotten,  told  them  to  be  careful  not  to  lean 
over  the  railing  of  the  observation  car,  nor  to  make  them 
selves  ill  with  the  numerous  boxes  of  candy  sent  to  the 
train,  admonished  them  not  to  spend  too  much  money  in 
New  York,  to  send  their  trunks  to  the  steamer  the  day 
before  they  sailed,  and  give  themselves  at  least  two  hours 
to  get  to  the  docks;  above  all  not  to  mislay  their  letters 
of  credit;  then  kissed  them  dutifully,  and,  as  the  train 
moved  out,  stood  on  the  platform  with  solemn  faces  and 
hearts  of  indescribable  buoyancy. 

"My  Lord!"  exclaimed  Ida,  as  she  blew  her  last  kiss. 
"If  Greg  was  going  along  I'd  have  to  take  care  of  him 
every  step  of  the  way.  I  wouldn't  trust  him  with  the 
tickets  the  length  of  the  train.  Men  do  make  me  tired. 
They  keep  up  the  farce  that  we're  children  just  to  keep 
up  that  other  grand  farce  that  they  run  the  Universe.  Any 
old  plank  to  cling  to." 

Ora  kept  her  sentiments  to  herself. 
If  Mark,  who  was  fond  of  his  wife,  and  more  or  less 
dependent  upon  her,  wondered  vaguely  that  he  should 
rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  six  months  of  bachelorhood, 
Gregory  was  almost  puzzled.  Ida  was  now  no  more  to  him 
personally  than  a  responsibility  he  had  voluntarily  assumed 
and  was  determined  to  treat  with  complete  justice ;  but  at 
least  she  made  him  more  comfortable  than  he  had  ever  been 
before,  and  he  had  trained  her  to  let  him  alone.  Since  her 
rapid  improvement  her  speech  had  ceased  to  irritate  him; 
she  was  never  untidy,  never  anything  but  a  pleasant  pic 
ture  to  look  at.  He  had  also  noted  on  the  night  of  the 
party  that  she  was  indisputably  the  handsomest  woman  in 
the  room  and  received  the  homage  of  men  with  dignity  and 

131 


132     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 


Pi0*!6  V  He  ^  felt  proild  of  her>  and  comfortably  certain 
that  he  could  trust  her.  Altogether  a  model  wife 

Nevertheless  as  he  walked  out  Park  Street  after  he  left 
Mark  at  his  office  (Ida  not  only  had  sent  his  personal 
possessions  to  the  Blake  house  but  found  time  to  unpack 
and  put  them  away)  his  brain,  which  had  been  curiously 
depressed  during  the  past  week,  felt  as  if  full  of  efferves 
cing  wine. 

"Jove!"  he  thought,  "why  do  men  marry?  What  has 
any  woman  living  to  give  a  man  half  as  good  as  his  free- 

His  freedom  was  to  be  reasonably  complete.  He  had 
told  Ida  to  expect  no  letters  from  him  and  not  to  write 
herself  unless  she  were  in  trouble.  With  all  the  fervour  of 
his  masculine  soul  he  hated  to  write  letters.  Long  since 
he  had  bought  a  typewriter,  on  which  he  rattled  off  neces 
sary  business  communications  so  briefly  that  they  would 
have  cost  him  little  more  on  the  wire.  He  knew  that  he 
should  hear  constantly  of  his  wife  '3  welfare  from  Mark 
and  had  no  desire  to  be  inflicted  with  descriptions  of 
scenery  and  shops. 

He  felt  a  spasm  of  envy,  however,  as  he  thought  of  the 
letters  Mark  would  receive  from  Ora.  Her  letters,  no 
doubt,  would  be  worth  reading,  not  only  because  she 
had  a  mind,  and  already  had  seen  too  much  of  Europe 
to  comment  on  its  obvious  phases,  but  because  they  would 
be  redolent  of  her  subtle  exquisite  personality.  He  had 
once  come  upon  a  package  of  old  letters  among  his  mother's 
possessions  and  read  them.  They  had  been  written  by  his 
great-great-grandmother  to  her  husband  while  he  was  a 
soldier  m  the  War  of  the  Revolution.  It  was  merely  the 
simple  life  of  the  family,  the  farm,  and  the  woods,  that 
she  described,  but  Gregory  never  recalled  those  letters  with 
out  feeling  again  the  subtle  psychological  emanation  of  the 
writer's  sweet  and  feminine  but  determinate  personality- 
it  hovered  like  a  wraith  over  the  written  words,  imprisoned' 
imperishable,  until  the  paper  should  fall  to  dust  So  he 
imagined,  something  of  Ora's  essence  would  take  wim?  on 
the  rustling  sheets  of  her  letters. 

But  the  spasm  of  envy  passed.  Ora  would  write  no  such 
letters  to  Mark  Blake.  Her  correspondence  with  her  hus 
band  would  be  perfunctory,  practical,  brief.  To  some  man 
fine  might  write  pages  that  would  keep  him  up  at  night 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     133 

reading  and  rereading,  interpreting  illusive  phrases, 
searching  for  hidden  and  personal  meanings,  while  two 
individualities  met  and  melted.  .  .  .  But  this  yearning 
passed  also.  To  receive  such  letters  a  man  must  answer 
them  and  that  would  be  hell. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  change  his  clothes  for  overalls 
and  get  his  blue  dinner  pail,  well  filled,  from  Ouster.  But 
before  he  reached  the  house  he  conceived  an  abrupt  and 
violent  distaste  for  life  underground,  an  uncontrollable 
desire — or  one  which  he  made  no  effort  to  control — for  long 
rides  over  the  ranch,  and  a  glimpse  of  Limestone  Hill.  It 
was  seven  months  since  he  had  seen  his  ranch  save  in 
snatches,  and  he  wanted  it  now  for  months  on  end.  He  was 
not  a  town-bred  man,  and  he  suddenly  hated  the  sight  of 
Butte  with  her  naked  angles  and  feverish  energies.  He 
realised  also  that  his  mind  insistently  demanded  a  rest. 
To  be  sure  he  had  intended  to  work  in  the  mines  for  eight 
hours  of  the  day,  but  he  had  planned  to  study  for  ten. 
Well,  he  would  have  none  of  it !  Caprice  was  no  character 
istic  of  his,  but  he  felt  full  of  it  this  brilliant  morning. 
If  the  air  was  so  light  in  Butte  that  his  feet  seemed  barely 
to  touch  the  ground,  so  clear  that  the  mountains  seemed 
walking  down  the  valley,  what  must  it  be  in  the  country? 

He  went  rapidly  to  the  house,  left  a  message  for  Mark, 
packed  a  suit-case  and  took  the  next  train  for  Pony.  There 
he  hired  a  horse  and  rode  to  his  ranch. 

One  of  the  sudden  June  rains  had  come  while  he  was 
in  the  train.  It  had  ceased,  but  a  mass  of  low  clouds 
brushing  the  higher  tree  tops  was  almost  black.  Their 
edges  were  silver:  they  were  filled  with  a  cold  imprisoned 
sunlight,  which  transformed  the  distant  mountains  into 
glass,  transparent,  with  black  shadows  in  their  depths. 
Montana  looked  as  giving  an  exhibition  of  her  astral  body. 
But  as  he  rode  the  clouds  drifted  away,  the  sky  deepened 
to  the  rich  voluptuous  blue  of  that  high  altitude;  even 
the  grey  soil  showing  through  the  thin  grass  of  the  granite 
hills  looked  warmer.  Where  the  soil  was  thicker  the 
ground  was  covered  with  a  gorgeous  tapestry  of  wildflow- 
ers;  the  birds  sang  desperately  as  if  they  knew  how  short 
was  their  spring  time,  affected  like  mortals  by  the  thin 
intoxicating  air.  Even  the  waters  in  the  creek  roared  as 
if  making  the  most  of  their  brief  span.  The  mountains 
lost  their  glassy  look;  blue,  ice-topped,  they  were  as  full 


134     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

of  young  and  vivid  life  as  when  they  danced  about,  heed 
less  that  the  heaving  earth  purposed  they  should  wait  for 
centuries  before  settling  into  things  of  beauty  for  unborn 
man  to  admire.  They  never  will  look  old,  those  mountains 
of  Montana;  man  may  take  the  treasure  from  their  veins 
and  the  jewels  from  their  crowns,  but  they  drink  for  ever 
the  elixir  of  the  air.  The  blue  dawn  fills  their  spirit  with 
a  deathless  exultation,  the  long  blue-gold  days  their  bodies 
with  immortal  life,  the  starry  nights,  swinging  their  lamps 
so  close  to  the  snow  fields,  unroll  the  dramas  of  other 
worlds.  They  are  no  mere  masses  of  rock  and  dirt  or 
even  of  metal,  these  mountains  of  Montana,  but  man's 
vision  of  eternal  youth. 

Gregory  drew  rein  on  the  crest  of  one  of  his  own  hills. 
Below  lay  the  De  Smet  ranch,  and  he  drew  a  long  breath 
with  that  sensation  of  serene  pride  which  comes  to  men 
when  they  contemplate  their  landed  possessions,  or  their 
wives  on  state  occasions.  All  the  arable  soil,  on  flat  and 
hillside,  was  green;  alfalfa,  with  its  purple  flowers,  filled 
the  bottoms;  the  winter  wheat  was  rippling  in  the  wind; 
the  acres  covered  with  the  tender  leaves  of  young  flax  were 
like  a  densely  woven  lawn.  On  the  hills  and  the  public 
range  roamed  his  cattle.  All  of  this  fair  land,  including 
its  possible  treasure,  was  his,  absolutely.  By  the  terms  of 
his  father's  will  he  paid  yearly  dividends  from  the  sale 
of  steers  and  crops  to  three  aunts,  now  reduced  to  two. 
Whether  by  accident  or  design,  Mr.  Compton  had  omitted 
all  mention  of  " minerals  under  the  earth."  Gregory  had 
not  the  least  objection  to  making  these  ladies  rich,  when 
his  mines  yielded  their  wealth,  but  he  was  jealous  of  every 
acre  of  his  inheritance,  far  more  of  its  secrets.  All  the 
passionate  intensity  of  his  nature  he  had  poured  out  on 
his  land  and  its  subterranean  mysteries,  and  he  would  have 
hailed  an  invention  which  would  enable  him  to  dismiss 
every  man  from  his  employ.  But  his  head  was  hard  and 
he  always  smiled  grimly  at  the  finish  of  his  fanciful  de 
sires. 

He  turned  his  horse  toward  the  distant  group  of  farm 
buildings,  then  wheeled  abruptly  and  rode  toward  Lime 
stone  Hill.  He  had  anticipated  a  long  talk  with  the  en 
thusiastic  Oakley  on  the  subject  of  crops,  but  he  suddenly 
realised  that  he  was  in  no  mood  to  talk  to  anyone  and 
that  his  secret  reason  for  coming  to  the  ranch  was  to  visit 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     135 

his  hill.  Oakley  would  cling  to  him  for  hours.  One  glance 
had  assured  him  that  the  crops  would  have  satisfied  a  state 
experimental  farm.  Mining  would  fascinate  him  in  its 
every  detail,  but  as  far  as  agriculture  was  concerned,  he 
was  interested  only  in  results. 

As  he  rode  toward  the  hill  he  frowned  at  the  signs  of 
activity  on  the  other  side  of  his  boundary  line.  A  large 
gasoline  hoist  had  been  installed.  The  waste  dump  was 
almost  as  high  as  a  hill,  four  "double-sixes" — six-horse 
teams — stood  waiting  to  be  loaded  from  the  ore  bins. 
There  were  a  group  of  miners'  cabins,  a  long  mess  house, 
and  a  blacksmith's  shop.  This  was  the  only  shadow  on 
his  future :  he  wanted  no  lawsuits,  nor  did  he  want  to  enter 
into  partnership  with  anyone,  not  even  Ora  Blake. 

But  he  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind,  tied  his 
horse,  and,  although  Montanans  are  a  slow  race  on  foot 
out  of  deference  to  the  altitude,  ran  up  the  hill.  A  glance 
told  him  that  his  secret  was  undiscovered.  He  knelt 
down  and  dug  up  the  float,  his  heart  hammering.  And 
then  he  deliberately  let  the  propector's  fever  take  posses 
sion  of  him.  The  soles  of  his  feet  prickled  as  if  responding 
to  the  magnets  below;  he  had  a  fancy  that  gold,  molten, 
was  running  through  his  veins.  But  his  brain  worked 
clearly.  He  was  aware  that  his  exultation  and  excitement 
were  not  due  to  the  lure  of  gold  alone,  but  to  the  still  more 
subtle  pleasure  that  a  strong  and  obstinate  nature  feels  in 
breaking  a  vow  and  deliberately  succumbing  to  tempta 
tion.  He  had  vowed  in  good  faith  that  he  would  not  open 
his  mine  until  the  third  of  June  of  the  following  year. 
But  a  week  before  he  had  spent  an  enchanted  hour  with  a 
woman,  and  during  the  rest  of  that  night — he  had  walked 
half  way  to  Silver  Bow  and  back — he  had  wanted  that 
woman  more  than  he  had  ever  wanted  anything  on  earth. 
He  had  forgotten  his  mine. 

At  first  he  had  lashed  himself  with  scorn,  remembering 
his  infatuation  for  the  woman  he  had  married.  He  felt 
something  of  the  indignant  astonishment  of  the  small  boy 
who  imagines  himself  catching  a  second  attack  of  measles, 
before  he  discovers  it  is  scarlet  fever.  But  it  took  him 
only  a  brief  time  to  realise  that  the  passion  inspired  by 
Ora  Blake  was  so  much  deeper  and  more  various  than 
the  blind  subservience  to  Nature  that  had  driven  him  to 
Ida  (who  had  not  the  least  idea  of  being  a  tool  of  Nature 


136     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

herself)  that  it  was  far  more  dangerous  than  the  first  in 
evitable  attack  of  youthful  madness  could  ever  be.  It 
humiliated  his  pride  to  have  been  the  mere  victim  of 
the  race,  the  rudimentary  male  swept  into  matrimony  by 
the  first  woman  who  combined  superlative  femaleness  with 
virtue.  Then  he  wondered  if  he  could  have  loved  Ora  at 
that  time ;  he  certainly  felt  ten  years  older  to-day. 

The  word  love  brought  him  to  his  senses.  It  was  formi 
dable  and  definite.  While  he  had  believed  himself  to  be  in 
the  throes  of  a  second  fever  caught  from  a  beautiful 
woman's  concordant  magnetism,  he  had  felt  merely  dis 
gusted  at  his  weakness,  not  in  the  least  disloyal  to  his 
closest  friend,  whom  he  knew  no  woman  could  tempt  him  to 
betray.  But  he  realised  with  hideous  abruptness  that  if 
he  were  thrown  with  Ora  Blake  for  any  length  of  time  she 
would  become  so  necessary  to  him  through  the  compre 
hensive  appeal,  which  he  only  half  understood,  that  he  no 
more  could  pluck  her  out  of  him  by  the  roots,  as  men  dis 
posed  of  the  superficial  passion  when  it  became  incon 
venient,  than  he  could  tear  the  veins  out  of  his  hill  with 
his  hands. 

He  had  felt  the  danger  dimly  when  with  her,  although 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  even  then  to  get  her  out  of 
Montana  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  vowed  anew,  with 
the  first  sensation  of  panic  he  had  ever  experienced,  that 
the  same  sky  should  not  cover  them  a  week  hence.  He 
knew  his  influence  over  Mark  Blake. 

Then  he  made  a  deliberate  attempt  to  banish  the  subject 
from  his  mind,  ordering  his  thoughts  to  their  favorite 
haunts  underground.  But  one  little  insidious  tract,  so 
difficult  to  control  in  all  brains  still  young  and  human, 
showed  a  disposition  to  create  startling  and  vivid  pictures, 
to  dream  intensely,  to  cast  up  this  woman  '-s  face,  fling  it 
into  his  consciousness,  with  an  automatic  regularity  that 
was  like  a  diabolical  challenge  to  his  haughty  will. 

He  endeavoured  to  think  of  Ora  with  contempt :  she  had 
married  a  good  fellow,  but  one  whom  she  must  have  been 
compelled  by  the  circumstances  of  her  life  to  regard  as  her 
social  inferior,  and  who  assuredly  was  in  no  sense  suited 
to  her — merely  from  a  parasitic  dread  of  poverty.  Other 
women  went  to  work,  even  if  delicately  nurtured.  But  he 
was  too  masculine  and  too  little  influenced  by  certain 
phases  of  modern  thought  to  condemn  any  woman  long  for 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     137 

turning  to  man  in  her  extremity.  Privately  he  detested 
women  that  "did  things";  better  for  them  all  to  give  some 
man  the  right  to  protect  them :  marriage  with  a  good  fellow 
like  Mark  Blake,  even  without  love,  spoilt  them  far  less 
than  mixing  up  with  the  world  in  a  scramble  for  bread. 
It  would  have  spoilt  Ora,  who  was  now  merely  unde 
veloped;  hardened,  sharpened,  coarsened  her.  He  dis 
missed  his  abortive  attempt  to  despise  her;  also  a  danger 
ous  tendency  to  pity  her. 

Before  he  finished  his  tramp  he  had  recaptured  his  poise. 
What  a  woman  like  Ora  Blake  might  have  to  give  him  he 
dared  not  think  of,  nor  would  he  be  betrayed  again  into 
speculation.  Doubtless  it  was  all  rubbish  anyway,  merely 
another  trick  of  the  insatiable  mating  instinct.  If  it  were 
more — the  primal  instinct  plus  the  almost  equally  insistent 
demands  of  the  civilised  inheritances  in  the  brain — so 
much  the  worse,  the  more  reason  to  "cut  it  out."  But 
when  he  returned  to  the  cottage  in  East  Granite  Street  he 
threw  himself  on  the  divan  in  the  parlour  and  slept  there. 


XXII 

'THEREFORE  was  he  in  no  mood  to  fight  another 
temptation ;  rather  to  take  a  sardonic  pleasure  in  suc 
cumbing.  An  hour  later,  in  overalls,  and  assisted  by  two 
of  his  labourers,  outwardly  more  excited  than  he,  for  they 
had  worked  underground  and  vowed  they  smelt  ore,  he 
was  running  an  open  cut  along  the  line  of  the  float.  As 
there  was  no  outcropping  it  was  mere  guesswork ;  it  might 
be  weeks  before  he  struck  any  definite  sign  of  an  ore  body, 
but  he  was  prepared  to  level  the  hill  if  necessary.  Until 
he  did  come  upon  indications  that  would  justify  the  ex 
pense,  however,  he  was  resolved  not  to  sink  a  shaft  nor 
drive  a  tunnel. 

They  used  pick  and  shovel  until  at  the  depth  of  eight 
feet  they  struck  rock.  Gregory  had  been  prepared  for  this 
and  sent  the  unwilling  but  interested  Oakley  into  Pony 
for  drills  and  powder.  For  two  days  more  they  drilled 
and  blasted ;  then — Gregory  took  out  his  watch  and  noted 
the  hour,  twenty-three  minutes  after  four — one  of  the  men 
gave  a  shout  and  tossed  a  fragment  into  the  air. 

''Stringer,  by  jinks!"  he  cried.  "And  it's  copper  car 
bonate  or  I  'm  a  dead  'un. ' ' 

Gregory  frowned,  but  laid  the  bit  of  ore  gently  on  his 
palm  and  regarded  it  with  awe.  He  wanted  gold,  but  at 
least  this  was  his,  and  the  first  of  his  treasure  to  be  torn 
from  its  sanctuary.  For  a  moment  the  merely  personal 
longing  was  lost  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  geologist,  for  the 
fragment  in  his  hand  was  very  beautiful,  a  soft  rich 
shaded  green  flecked  with  red;  the  vugs,  or  little  cells, 
looked  as  if  lined  with  deep  green  velvet. 

But  he  turned  and  stared  at  the  mining  camp  beyond 
his  boundary  line.  One  of  the  bits  of  float  he  had  found 
last  year  had  been  gold  quartz.  Had  it  travelled,  a  mere 
chip,  from  the  original  body  to  this  distant  point,  or 
danced  here  on  the  shoulders  of  an  earthquake?  Float, 
even  under  a  layer  of  soil  was  often  found  so  far  from 

138 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     139 

the  ore  body,  that  it  was  a  more  fallible  guide  than  a  pros 
pector 's  guess.  He  walked  to  the  end  of  the  hill,  while 
his  miners  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  resumed  the 
drilling. 

The  great  vein  of  the  Primo  mine  was  dipping  acutely  to 
the  right.  Might  it  not  be  wise  for  him  to  abandon  his 
present  position  and  sink  a  shaft  close  to  the  line,  trusting 
to  his  practical  knowledge  and  highly  organized  faculty  to 
strike  the  vein? 

He  stood  for  half  an  hour  debating  the  question,  listen 
ing  to  the  intermittent  roar  of  the  engine,  the  rattle  of  ore 
dumped  from  the  buckets.  Then  he  walked  back  to  the 
red  gash  in  his  own  land.  It  would  be  the  bitterest  dis 
appointment  of  his  life  if  he  failed  to  find  gold  in  his  hill, 
but  the  dominant  voice  in  his  brain  was  always  practical, 
and  it  advised  him  to  follow  the  willing  metal  for  the 
present  instead  of  incurring  the  expense  of  a  shaft  and 
possible  litigation. 

"  'Nother  stringer!"  announced  one  of  the  men,  as 
Gregory  arrived  at  the  long  deep  cut.  "Guess  it's  time 
for  a  windlass." 

"Guess  it  is.  Go  down  to  the  house  and  get  some 
lumber. ' ' 

He  descended  into  the  cut  and  looked  at  the  unmistak 
able  evidence  of  little  veins.  Were  they  really  stringer, 
tentacles  of  a  great  ore  body  climbing  toward  the  surface, 
or  a  mere  series  of  independent  and  insignificant  veins  not 
worth  exploiting?  He  was  in  a  pessimistic  mood,  but 
laughed  suddenly  as  he  realised  how  disappointed  he  would 
be  should  further  excavation  demonstrate  there  was  no 
chamber  of  copper  ore  below. 

Four  hours  later  the  windlass  was  finished  and  four 
men  were  at  work.  At  the  end  of  the  fortnight  the  wind 
lass  had  been  discarded  in  favor  of  a  gasoline  hoist,  and 
twenty-five  men  in  three  shifts  were  employed  upon  a 
chamber  of  copper  carbonate  ore.  The  nearest  of  the  De 
Smet  hills  began  to  take  on  the  appearance  of  a  mining 
camp ;  a  mess  house  and  a  number  of  cabins  were  building. 
Trees  were  falling,  not  only  to  make  room  for  the  new 
"town"  but  to  timber  the  mine  when  the  time  came  to 
sink  or  drift.  At  present  those  of  the  miners  that  could 
not  be  housed  by  the  disgusted  Oakley  occupied  tents  or 
rude  shacks.  Oakley  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time 


140     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

escorting  the  great  six-horse  teams  from  the  ranch  to  the 
public  road,  as  their  drivers  showed  an  indifference  to 
his  precious  crops  only  rivalled  by  Gregory  Compton's. 

Mark  took  a  week's  vacation  after  the  first  .carload  of 
ore  had  been  shipped  from  Pony  to  the  sampling  works  in 
Butte  and  netted  $65  a  ton.  Gregory,  who  was  working 
with  his  men,  far  too  impatient  and  surcharged  with 
energy  to  walk  about  as  mere  manager,  paid  scant  atten 
tion  to  him  during  the  day;  but  Mark  was  content  to  sit 
on  the  edge  of  the  cut  and  smoke  and  calculate,  merely 
retreating  in  haste  when  the  men  lit  the  fuses. 

On  the  third  morning,  as  he  was  approaching  the  mine 
at  dawn  with  his  host,  Gregory  suddenly  announced  his 
intention  of  sending  for  a  manager;  he  purposed  to  sink 
a  shaft  on  the  edge  of  the  chamber  in  order  to  determine  if 
the  present  lode  was  the  top  of  a  vein. 

" Better  take  off  your  coat  and  go  to  work,"  he  added. 
"Do  you  good.  You're  getting  too  fat." 

"Getting?  Thanks.  But  I  don't  mind.  You've  got 
several  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  that  chamber  by 
the  looks  of  things,  but  I  suppose  that  wouldn't  satisfy 
you?" 

"Lord,  no.  That  is  merely  the  necessary  capital  to 
mine  the  entire  hill — or  fight  the  powers  that  be  when 
they  get  on  to  the  fact  that  I've  got  another  Anaconda." 

"Do  you  believe  it?  Big  pockets  have  been  found  in 
solitary  splendor  before  this." 

"This  hill  is  mineral  from  end  to  end,"  said  Gregory 
with  intense  conviction.  "And  I  want  to  get  to  the  main 
lode  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Mark  abruptly,  "why  don't  you 
locate  your  claim?" 

"Locate?  Why,  the  land's  mine.  Patent  is  all  right. 
My  father  even  patented  several  placer  claims " 

* '  Mining  laws  are  fearful  and  wonderful  things.  Judges, 
with  a  fat  roll  in  their  pockets,  have  been  known  to  make 
fearful  and  wonderful  interpretations  before  this.  If 
you've  struck  a  new  copper  belt — well,  the  enemy  has  bil 
lions.  Better  stake  off  the  entire  hill,  and  apply  for  pat 
ents.  You  may  be  grey  before  you  get  them,  but  the  ap 
plication  is  enough " 

"It  would  cost  a  lot  of  money,  and  I  don't  like  the  idea 
of  paying  twice  over.  This  is  costing  thousands " 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     141 

"And  you'll  soon  be  taking  out  thousands  a  week.  But 
if  you  need  it  all  I'll  lend  you  the  money.  It  would  be  a 
good  investment  for  Ora.  You  can  pay  me  four  per  cent. 
I  Ve  a  mind  to  go  ahead  to-day  and  begin  staking  off. ' ' 

Gregory  stood  still  with  his  head  inclined  at  the  angle 
which  indicated  that  he  was  concentrating  his  mind. 
"Very  well,"  he  said  curtly.  "Go  ahead.  And  I  don't 
need  your  money.  Stake  off  every  inch  of  the  hill  and 
have  a  good  map  made.  See  that  the  side  lines  are  flush 
with  the  boundary.  Of  course  I  'd  never  have  any  trouble 
with  you,  but  Mrs.  Blake  might  take  it  into  her  head  to 
sell.  Get  out  a  surveyor  when  you're  ready  for  him. 
Don't  bother  me  until  the  thing  is  done." 

Mark  took  a  longer  vacation  and  worked  off  some  twenty 
pounds.  He  wished  ruefully  that  Ora  would  return  sud 
denly,  for  he  doubted  that  his  love  of  good  living  would 
undo  the  excellent  work  when  fre  was  once  more  in  Butte. 
He  employed  a  U.  S.  deputy  mineral  surveyor,  the  map 
was  made,  Gregory  applied  for  his  patents;  the  lawyers 's 
mind  was  at  rest  for  the  present,  although  he  kept  his  ears 
open  in  Butte. 

Gregory  sank  his  shaft  ostensibly  to  determine  the  dip 
and  width  of  the  vein  leading  from  the  chamber,  but 
secretly  with  the  hope  of  meeting  the  body  of  ore  already 
uncovered  in  the  Primo  Mine.  He  was  elated  with  his 
splendid  "find"  and  sudden  wealth,  but  his  old  dream 
never  left  him  for  a  moment.  Indeed  he  would  have  been 
more  than  willing  to  miss  the  pyroxenite  if  he  could  come 
upon  a  lode  of  quartz  containing  free  gold.  That  was  what 
he  had  visualised  all  his  life.  He  wanted  to  stand  in  his 
own  stopes  and  flash  his  lantern  along  glittering  seams, 
not  merely  send  masses  of  decomposed  grey-black  ore  to 
the  sampling  works  and  await  returns.  If  he  found  a  vein 
worth  the  outlay  he  would  erect  his  own  stamp  mill  and 
listen  to  its  music.  Such  is  the  deathless  boy  that  exists 
in  all  men.  Mere  wealth  meant  far  less  to  him  than  the 
beautiful  costly  toy  to  play  with  for  a  while. 

The  shaft  at  the  end  of  a  month  had  gone  down  eighty 
feet;  but  had  revealed  only  a  lean  vein  of  copper 
carbonates  which  made  him  forget  his  dreams  in  the 
fear  that  his  mine  was  pinching  out.  But  he  persisted, 
and  one  morning  when  he  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  shaft 
after  the  smoke  of  the  blast  had  cleared  away,  and  lit  his 


142     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

candle,  he  picked  up  a  lump  of  yellow  ore  that  glittered 
like  quartz  packed  with  free  gold.  For  a  moment  his  head 
swam.  He  knelt  down  and  brushed  the  shattered  rock  from 
several  other  bits  of  what  looked  like  virgin  gold;  and  he 
caressed  them  as  gently  as  if  they  had  been  the  cheek  of 
his  first  born.  But  he  was  a  geologist.  He  stepped  into 
the  ascending  bucket  a  prey  to  misgivings.  As  soon  as  he 
examined  his  treasure  in  the  sunlight  he  knew  it  at  once 
for  chalcopyrite — the  great  copper  ore  of  the  sulphide 
zone. 

After  he  had  assayed  it  he  philosophically  dismissed  re 
gret.  It  ran  $26  in  copper  with  slight  values  of  gold 
and  silver.  Chalcopyrite  ore,  as  a  rule,  runs  about  five 
per  cent,  in  copper,  its  commercial  value  lying  in  the  im 
mense  quantities  in  which  it  may  be  found,  although  it  is 
necessary  to  concentrate  at  the  mine.  If  he  had  struck 
one  of  the  rare  veins  of  massive  chalcopyrite,  averaging 
$25  a  ton,  he  would  take  out,  after  it  was  sufficiently  de 
veloped,  several  thousand  dollars  a  day;  and,  like  the 
carbonates,  it  could  go  straight  to  the  smelter.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  vein  when  uncovered  proved  to  be  six 
feet  wide  and  grew  slightly  broader  with  depth.  The 
miners  were  jubilant  over  their  ' '  fool 's  gold ' ',  and  a  num 
ber  of  people  came  out  and  asked  for  the  privilege  of 
looking  at  what  the  foreman,  Joshua  Mann,  declared  to  be 
the  prettiest  pay  streak  in  Montana. 

Gregory  found  his  chalcopyrite  during  the  third  month 
after  he  began  to  investigate  the  hill.  The  chamber  al 
ready  had  netted  him  over  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  and 
grew  richer  with  depth.  He  put  an  extra  force  at  work  on 
the  promising  shoot. 

In  the  Primo  Mine  the  luck  varied.  The  two  engineers, 
Osborne  and  Douglas,  exhausted  the  first  lode,  struck  a 
poor  vein,  averaging  ten  dollars  a  ton,  then  ran  into  a  body 
of  the  ore  netting  as  high  as  four  hundred  dollars.  Two 
months  later  they  came  up  suddenly  against  a  wall  of 
country  rock.  Undaunted,  they  drove  through  the  mass, 
and  struck  a  lean  shoot  of  chalcopyrite. 


XXIII 

"\17ELL,  what  do  you  know  about  that?" 

*  *  Mark 's  feet  were  on  the  table  in  the  cabin  Gregory 
had  had  built  for  himself  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  news 
had  just  been  brought  to  them  by  one  of  the  men  who  had  a 
faithful  friend  in  the  Primo  Mine. 

Gregory  was  engaged  in  biting  a  cigar  to  pieces.  He 
waited  some  ten  minues  before  replying,  during  which 
Mark  smoked  philosophically.  "I  think  this,"  he  said 
finally,  "what  those  fellows  are  after  is  gold,  not  copper. 
Better  suggest  to  them  to  get  out  an  expert  geologist — 
Holmes  is  a  good  friend  of  mine — who  will  tell  them  to 
sink  a  shaft  over  on  the  right,  or  run  a  drift  from  the 
original  stope.  All  we  need  is  time." 

"I'm  on.  But  will  they  do  it?  They're  not  fools  and 
what  they're  after  mainly  is  cash." 

"I  think  they'll  listen  to  reason.  They're  not  far  from 
the  boundary  line  and  there's  no  possible  doubt  that  the 
vein  apexes  here.  The  moment  they  cross  the  line  I'll  get 
out  an  injunction.  That  would  stop  them  anyhow,  hold 
them  up  until  their  lease  had  expired.  And  their  chance 
is  good  to  recover  the  vein  on  the  other  side.  No  doubt  it 
has  faulted.  Have  you  noticed  those  aspens  about  a  hun 
dred  yards  beyond  their  shaft?  Where  there  are  aspens 
there  is  water.  Now  as  there  is  no  water  in  sight  it  must 
be  below  the  surface,  and  that  would  indicate  faulting. 
There  might  be  no  ore  on  the  other  side,  but  the  chance 
is  worth  taking.  Better  have  a  talk  with  Osborne  to 
morrow.  He's  the  least  mulish  of  the  two." 

"Good.  I  might  offer  them  some  inducement — give 
them  an  extra  month  or  two.  Even  so  we'd  win  out.  But 
they're  not  the  only  danger  ahead.  How  long  since  you've 
been  in  Butte?" 

"Not  since  I  began  work." 

""Well,  let  me  tell  you  that  Amalgamated  is  buzzing. 

143 


144     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

They've  got  on  to  the  fact  good  and  plenty  that  youVe 
got  the  biggest  thing  in  copper  that  has  been  struck  in 
Montana  for  twenty  years.  Of  course  they  get  figures 
regularly  from  the  sampling  works.  They  know  you've 
already  taken  out  half  a  million  dollars  worth  of  ore — 
net — and  that  the  new  shoot  is  getting  richer  every  min 
ute.  They're  talking  loud  about  spoiling  the  market  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  Of  course  that's  rank  nonsense.  What 
worries  them  is  a  rival  in  Montana.  If  your  mine  was  in 
Colorado  or  Michigan  they  wouldn't  care  shucks.  You 
haven't  taken  out  enough  yet  to  worry  them  about  the 
market.  But  if  they  can  queer  your  game  they'll  do  it. 
Lucky  for  you  the  smelting  works  need  copper  just  now 
as  badly  as  you  need  them.  If  it  were  not  for  that  strike 
in  the  Stemwinder  and  the  Corkscrew  you  might  be  having 
trouble." 

Gregory  smiled,  but  as  he  set  his  jaw  at  the  same  time  it 
was  not  an  agreeable  smile.  * '  I  'm  in  a  mood  to  fight  some 
body — and  win.  I  wanted  gold  and  didn't  get  it.  A  row 
with  Amalgamated  would  relieve  my  feelings — although 
I  'd  rather  use  my  fists. ' ' 

"They're  mad,  too,  because  you've  named  your  mine 
*  Perch  of  the  Devil.'  That's  the  old  name  for  Butte,  and 
they  look  upon  it  as  a  direct  challenge. ' ' 

"So  it  is.  And  you  don't  suppose  I'd  call  my  mine 
Limestone  Hill,  do  you?  I  shouldn't  get  half  the  fun 
out  of  it.  What  the  devil  can  they  do,  anyhow  ? ' ' 

"That's  what  I'm  worrying  about.  You  never  know 
what  Amalgamated  has  up  its  sleeve.  There  was  just  one 
man  who  was  too  much  for  them — for  a  while — and  that 
was  Heinze.  And  they  got  him  in  the  end.  I  believe  you'd 
give  them  a  run  for  their  money,  and  I  don't  rank  you 
second  to  Heinze  or  any  other  man  when  it  comes  to 
brains  or  resource.  But — well,  they've  got  billions — and 
the  best  legal  talent  in  the  state." 

"You  deserve  a  return  compliment.  You  may  consider 
yourself  counsel  for  Perch  of  the  Devil  Mine." 

"Jimminy!  But  I'd  like  a  chance  at  them."  Mark's 
cigar  was  burning  his  fingers  but  he  only  felt  the  fire  in 
his  brain.  "Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Who  else?  Watch  them.  Put  spies  on  them.  Fight 
them  with  their  own  weapons.  They've  spies  among  my 
miners.  That  doesn't  worry  me  a  bit.  I  merely  mention 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     145 

it.  Let's  change  the  subject.  I've  got  to  sleep  tonight. 
What's  the  news  from  Europe?" 

"I've  got  Ora's  last  letter  here;  want  to  hear  it?" 

"Good  Lord,  no.  Tell  me  what  they  are  doing.  I  sent 
Ida  five  thousand  dollars  a  few  days  ago,  so  I  suppose 
they're  flying  high.  She  cabled  her  thanks  and  said  they 
were  both  well." 

"Don't  you  really  know  what  they've  been  doing?" 

"Not  a  thing." 

"Well — let's  see.  They  went  over  in  June.  They  did 
France,  Germany — lot  of  places  in  regulation  tourist  style 
— incidentally  met  several  of  Mrs.  Stratton's  old  friends. 
Then  they  went  back  to  Paris,  where  they  appear  to  have 
indulged  in  an  orgy  of  clothes  preparatory  to  a  round  of 
country  house  visits  on  the  Continent  and  in  England. 
Ora  writes  with  great  enthusiasm  of — er — Ida's  improve 
ment.  Says  you'd  think  she'd  been  on  top  all  her  life,  es 
pecially  since  she  got  those  Paris  duds,  and  met  a  lot  of 
smart  people;  makes  a  hit  with  everybody,  and  will  as 
tonish  Butte  when  she  comes  back." 

' '  That  will  please  her ! ' '  He  felt  no  glow  of  tenderness, 
but  some  satisfaction  that  he  could  gratify  the  ambitions 
of  the  woman  he  had  married.  He  was  still  too  keen  on 
his  own  youthful  dreams,  and  thankful  at  their  partial 
fulfillment,  not  to  sympathise  with  those  of  others. 

Mark  left  him  to  accept  the  more  commodious  hospitality 
of  Oakley,  and  Gregory  sat  for  another  hour  smoking, 
hoping  for  the  mood  of  sleep.  But  the  news  had  excited 
him,  and  he  preferred  to  sit  up  rather  than  to  toss  about 
his  narrow  bed.  The  last  part  of  the  conversation,  how 
ever,  had  given  a  new  turn  to  his  thoughts.  Suddenly, 
unbidden,  Ora  flashed  into  his  mind  and  refused  to  be 
dislodged.  He  walked  up  and  down,  striving  to  banish  her 
as  he  had  done  before,  when,  sleepless,  she  had  peremp 
torily  demanded  his  attention.  Tonight  she  was  almost  a 
visible  presence  in  the  little  room. 

He  sat  down  again  and  grimly  permitted  his  mind  to 
dwell  upon  his  long  communion  with  her  on  the  steps  of 
the  School  of  Mines.  He  tried  to  analyse  his  impulse  to 
take  her  there.  Unconventional  as  he  was  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him  to  do  such  a  thing  before,  and  there  were 
twenty  women  in  the  room  whom  he  would  have  expected 
to  exercise  a  more  potent  fascination  had  he  been  in  the 


146     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

humour  for  a  flirtation.  He  had  been  quite  honest  in 
telling  Ora  that  he  had  taken  her  out  merely  to  look  at 
her  under  the  stars,  and  in  intimating  that  to  make  love 
to  her  was  the  last  thing  in  his  mind.  She  had  hardly 
seemed  a  woman  at  all  there  in  the  ballroom  or  when  he 
first  sat  at  her  feet ;  his  mind  was  relaxed  and  the  ' '  queer ' ' 
romantic  or  poetical  streak  that  he  often  deprecated  had 
taken  possession  of  it;  if  he  had  had  a  suspicion  of  any 
thing  more  he  would  have  fled  from  her  at  once,  for  she 
was  the  wife  of  his  friend.  As  it  was  he  merely  had  dis 
missed  Mark  from  his  mind  and  tried  the  experiment  of 
setting  a  bit  of  exquisite  white  poetry  to  the  music  of  the 
stars.  .  .  . 

As  often  as  her  memory  had  assailed  him  he  had  longed 
to  rehearse  that  scene ;  the  conversation,  desultory  and  per 
sonal;  her  white  profile  against  the  flaming  blue  sky;  the 
intensity  and  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  so  unlocked  for  in  her 
young  almost  colorless  face ;  her  pink  mouth  that  changed 
its  expression  so  often;  her  curious  magnetism,  so  unlike 
that  of  the  full-blooded  woman — all  of  that  and  some 
thing  more;  the  strange  community  of  mind — or  soul? — 
that  had  drawn  him  on  to  pour  out  his  secret  self  into  an 
other  self  of  whose  contact  he  was  almost  literally  sensible, 
— in  a  sudden  desire  for  comprehension  that  had  been  like 
the  birth  of  a  new  star  in  his  mental  constellation.  He 
had  felt  the  thrill  of  her  sympathy,  her  understanding, 
then  another  thrill  of  perplexity,  fear ;  then  the  little  quar 
rel,  when  he  had  thought  her  more  adorable  than  ever, 
and  no  longer  bearing  the  least  resemblance  to  a  star- 
wraith,  but  wholly  feminine.  When  he  left  her  it  was 
with  the  confused  sense  that  he  had  sojourned  for  a  bit 
with  the  quintessence  of  womanhood  whom  Nature  had 
cast  in  a  new  and  perilous  mould. 

He  went  over  the  hour  again  and  again,  hoping  to  bore 
himself,  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  it  had  been  a  mere 
commonplace  flirtation  with  a  coquette  who  was  as  cold  as 
she  looked.  But  he  found  the  recaptured  scene  very  sweet. 
The  power  of  concentration  he  possessed  enabled  him  to 
shut  out  the  little  room  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  woman 
whose  magic  personality  had  penetrated  the  barriers  he 
so  jealously  had  built  about  his  soul  and  given  him  the 
first  sense  of  companionship  he  had  ever  known. 

He  was  filled  with  a  longing  that  shook  him  and  hurt 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     147 

him,  to  feel  that  sense  of  sympathetic  companionship,  of 
spiritual  contact,  again.  And  far  more.  He  knew  that 
she  had  loved  no  man,  that  all  the  glory  and  the  riches 
within  her  were  waiting — and  if  she  had  waited,  and  he 
had  waited,  and  they  had  met  unfettered  that  night 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  face  in  the  smoky  light 
looked  black. 

' '  God ! "  he  muttered.  ' '  God !  Have  I  fallen  as  low  as 
that?  If  ever  I  think  of  her  again  I'll  cut  my  heart  out. 
I  hope  to  God  the  Amalgamated  puts  up  the  hell  of  a 
fight.  What  I  want  is  a  man's  work  in  the  world,  not  a 
play  actor's." 


XXIV 

A  WEEK  later,  Gregory,  who  was  down  in  the  bottom 
of  the  shaft,  received  a  message  by  way  of  a  de 
scending  miner  that  a  gentleman  from  Butte,  one  Mr.  John 
Robinson,  requested  the  favour  of  an  interview,  and 
awaited  him  in  the  cabin  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  At  least 
such  is  the  polite  translation  of  the  message  as  delivered : 
' '  Say,  Boss,  there 's  a  guy  upstairs  in  your  shack  what  says 
he  7s  from  Butte,  and 's  come  out  to  have  a  chin  with  you — 
some  important.  Says  his  name  is  John  Robinson." 

Gregory  swore  under  his  breath  and  for  a  minute  his 
face  looked  ugly  and  formidable.  But  as  he  stepped  into 
the  bucket  and  gave  the  signal  he  permitted  his  expression 
to  change  to  one  of  grim  amusement.  Mr.  Robinson  was 
one  of  the  brilliant  galaxy  that  guided  the  legal  footsteps 
of  "Amalgamated";  that  powerful  company,  financed  by 
Standard  Oil,  which  owned  thirty-one  of  the  mines  of 
Butte  openly,  and  exerted  a  power  in  Montana  far  exceed 
ing  that  of  state  or  nation. 

Gregory  wore  corduroy  trousers  and  coat,  and  these  as 
well  as  his  face  and  hands  were  white  with  "muck",  a 
mixture  of  rock-dust  and  water  which  spattered  everyone 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  ore  drills ;  but  he  wasted  no  time  to 
clean  up  before  climbing  to  his  cabin  to  meet  the  ambassa 
dor  from  Amalgamated. 

^  Mr.  Robinson,  a  portly  gentleman,  still  young,  but  mani 
festly  the  victim  of  easy  fortune,  Tose  from  his  chair  be 
fore  the  stove  and  greeted  his  host  with  beaming  smile  and 
extended  hand. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Compton!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  meet  you  again.  Of  course  you  have  forgotten 
me  for  I  was  two  grades  above  you  in  the  High,  when  you 
were  a  little  chap " 

"What  have  you  come  here  for?  Out  with  it!  I've  no 
time  to  waste.  Sit  down  if  you  like." 

148 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     149 

Mr.  Robinson  colored  angrily.  He  knew  little  of  the 
man  with  whom  he  had  come  to  deal,  but  had  always  relied 
upon  his  urbanity  and  Western  heartiness  to  "make  a 
hit."  He  knew  Mark  Blake  and,  although  he  had  heard, 
like  others,  of  Gregory  Compton's  record  at  the  School  of 
Mines,  he  had  assumed  that  he  was  a  mere  student,  and  in 
other  respects  more  or  less  the  same  sort  of  man  as  his 
chum.  This  man  looked  unlike  any  he  had  ever  met. 
He  concealed  his  chagrin,  however,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"Really,  Mr.  Compton,  you  are  somewhat  abrupt — 

"Get  down  to  business.  What  does  Amalgamated 
want?" 

Mr.  Robinson  wisely  took  the  cue. 

11  To  buy  you  out." 

"How  much  will  they  pay?" 

* '  How  much  do  you  want  ? '  ' 

"What  do  they  offer?" 

"Well,  between  you  and  me,  I  fancy  they  might  go  as 
high  as  a  hundred  thousand." 

"Tell  them  to  go  to  hell." 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 

' '  A  hundred  millions. ' ' 

"Good  God,  man,  are  you  mad!" 

1 '  If  you  had  permitted  me  to  finish,  I  should  have  added 
— in  other  words,  nothing.  There  isn't  money  enough  in 
side  of  Montana,  let  alone  on  top,  to  buy  one  acre  of  this 
ranch. ' ' 

"But — you  know  what  most  mines  are — pockety — yours 
may  peter  out  any  minute." 

"All  right.     I  take  the  chances." 

"The  history  of  Butte  Hill  is  unique.  There  will  never 
be  another " 

' '  How  do  you  know  ? ' ' 

"It  stands  to  reason " 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  man,  if  you  are  indulging  in  wild 
dreams ! ' ' 

"My  dreams  concern  no  one  but  myself.  I'm  satisfied 
with  my  hill  and  that 's  all  there  is  to  it. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  not.  Look  here,  you  are  a  fine  young  fel 
low  with  a  big  future — people  talk  a  lot  about  you — I  don't 
want  to  see  you  crushed " 

"You  won't" 


150     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"I'm  not  here  to  make  threats,  but  you  are  not  so — ah 

unsophisticated  as  to  imagine  that  if  Amalgamated  sets 
ou£  to  get  rid  of  you,  you  can  stand  up  against  them  ? ' ' 

They  can 't  do  a  damned  thing  and  you  know  it.  They 
might  have  a  few  years  ago,  when  a  roll  could  be  passed  on 
the  street  to  a  judge  who  was  to  deny  or  grant  an  injunc 
tion  within  a  few  hours,  and  at  a  time  when  there  was  no 
prospect  of  the  referendum  and  recall;  when  the  people 
of  Montana  took  the  buying  and  selling  of  men  in  the 
legislature  as  part  of  the  game,  all  in  the  day's  work. 
But  Montana  has  caught  the  reform  spirit  that  has  been 
sweeping  over  the  rest  of  the  country,  and  she  is  also  get 
ting  pretty  sick  of  corporation  power.  Now,  sir,  not  only 
have  I  a  clear  title  to  this  ranch,  but  I've  staked  off  the 
entire  hill  and  applied  for  patents.  If  Amalgamated 
freezes  me  out  of  Anaconda  and  Great  Falls,  I'll  promote 
a  company  and  put  up  a  plant  of  my  own.  With  nearly  a 
million  dollars  in  sight  besides  what  I've  taken  out,  you 
can  figure,  yourself,  how  much  trouble  I'd  have  in  New 
York  getting  all  the  money  I  wanted.  Amalgamated 
knows  that,  and  my  ore  will  continue  to  be  smelted  in 
Anaconda.  Of  course  if  I  were  within  a  mile  or  so  of 
Butte  I  might  be  in  some  danger.  They'd  bore  through 
and  then  claim  that  my  ore  vein  apexed  in  one  of  their 
properties.  But  I'm  too  far  away  for  that. " 

Gregory  saw  the  other  man's  eyes  flash  wide  open  before 
they  were  hastily  lowered.  Mr.  Robinson  regarded  the 
point  of  his  cigar. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said.  "That's  all  very  true.  Luck  is 
with  you  in  a  measure,  but— well,  take  my  advice  and  don't 
fight  Amalgamated.  They  have  in  their  employ  some  of 
the  most  resourceful  brains  in  the  country— that  are  always 
on  the  job.  Heinze  taught  them  a  lesson  they'll  never  for 
get." 

"Let's  drop  the  subject."  Gregory  rose  and  opened  a 
cupboard.  "Have  something?" 

He  poured  whiskey  into  two  glasses.  The  men  smiled  as 
they  drank,  Gregory  sardonically,  Mr.  Robinson  ruefully 
but  with  thoughtful  eyes.  He  had  what  Ida  called  the 
quick-rich  face,  large  and  round  and  fat,  and  it  was  an 
admirable  mask. 

"Like  to  see  the  mine?"  asked  Gregory. 

"Why,  yes— do  you  mean  it?" 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     151 

"Why  not?  If  it  had  any  secrets  your  spies  would  have 
turned  them  over  before  this.  Glad  to  show  it  to  you." 

They  went  to  the  shafthead  and  descended  in  one  of  the 
buckets. 

"How  far  down  have  you  gone?"  asked  Mr.  Robinson, 
with  an  air  of  polite  interest. 

"We  found  chalcopyrite  at  one  hundred  and  ten  feet, 
after  a  narrow  vein  leading  from  the  chamber  near  the 
surface,  and  are  stoping." 

As  they  left  the  bucket  they  were  greeted  by  the  cheer 
ful  rhythmical  sound  of  hammers  on  the  drills,  and  by 
the  light  of  the  miners'  candles  they  saw  the  men  working 
at  different  points  of  the  dark  chamber,  two  on  a  scaffold 
ing  above. 

"Great  waste  of  labor,"  said  Gregory.  "I  shall  install 
a  compressor  before  long  as  well  as  electric  lighting.  Of 
course  it  is  only  the  beginning  of  a  mine." 

He  saw  the  ambassador  from  Amalgamated  smile,  and 
turned  on  his  heel.  "They'll  be  loading  the  holes  in  a 
minute,"  he  said.  "And  I'd  like  to  show  you  the  upper 
chamber. ' ' 

When  they  reached  the  surface  Mr.  Robinson  declined 
to  go  down  into  the  excavation,  but  stood  on  the  edge 
watching  the  busy  hive  below.  "Great  sight,"  he  said 
admiringly.  "How  deep  have  you  gone?" 

"About  seventy-eight  feet." 

"And  the  end  not  in  sight!" 

"Not  yet,  but  of  course  it's  only  a  chamber." 

"You've  taken  out  close  on  half  a  million  here  alone." 

"Pretty  near.  What  the  devil  made  you  suppose  I'd 
take  a  paltry  hundred  thousand  for  the  hill?" 

"Oh,  just  to  avoid  trouble.  You  have  the  reputation 
of  being  a  very  clever  man." 

"Thanks.  It's  cold  standing  round.  Wouldn't  you  like 
to  take  a  walk?  How'd  you  like  to  see  the  Primo  Mine?" 

As  Gregory,  who  was  watching  him  intently,  anticipated, 
the  man's  face  lit  up.  "I  should  like  it!"  he  said  defi 
nitely.  "I  hear  that  they  too  have  struck  chalcopyrite. 
Lost  their  gold  vein." 

"They're  nosing  after  it  in  another  direction.  When 
the  lease  is  up  I  shall  consolidate  with  the  Blakes." 

"Quite  natural.  Of  course  it's  the  same  vein?— the 
chalcopyrite,  I  mean." 


152     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

* '  Unquestionably.    And  it  apexes  in  my  property. ' ' 

"Are  you  so  sure  of  that?" 

"Not  a  doubt  in  the  world.  I  struck  the  top  of  the 
vein  twelve  feet  below  the  surface.  But  it  will  never  go 
to  the  courts." 

"Of  course  not." 

Gregory,  who  looked  remote,  almost  blank,  lost  not  an 
intonation  of  the  other  man 's  voice,  nor  a  flickering  gleam 
in  his  cunning  eyes.  His  own  head  was  a  little  on  one  side, 
which,  had  Mr.  Robinson  had  the  good  fortune  to  know 
him  better,  would  have  warned  him  that  the  young  man 
for  whom  he  had  conceived  a  certain  respect  was  thinking 
hard  and  to  some  purpose. 

Douglas,  who  had  a  personal  liking  for  his  neighbor, 
unaware  that  he  had  been  the  chief  instrument  in  the  up 
setting  of  skillful  plans  for  untold  wealth,  readily  gave 
permission  to  visit  the  mine  as  soon  as  the  smoke  from  a 
recent  blast  would  permit.  Gregory  and  Mr.  Robinson 
walked  about  to  keep  warm,  the  former  pointing  out  the 
probability  of  a  faulted  ore  vein  under  the  aspens,  and 
enlarging  upon  the  great  fortune  bound  to  be  Mrs.  Blake 's 
in  any  case.  Then  as  the  man  merely  remarked,  "Yes, 
charming  woman,  Mrs.  Blake ;  thought  the  night  of  the 
Prom  she  was  one  of  the  prettiest  women  I  ever  saw.  No 
dead  easy  game  there";  Gregory  refrained  from  kicking 
him  and  said  innocently. 

"Good  thing  the  law  compels  creditors  to  present  their 
claims  within  a  limited  time,  or  Amalgamated  might  grab 
this  mine  and  bore  through  to  my  hill.  I  understand  Judge 
Stratton  was  heavily  in  debt  to  the  Anaconda  Company 
when  he  died." 

Mr.  Robinson's  face  turned  a  deep  brick  red,  and  he 
shot  a  piercing  glance  into  the  narrow  noncommittal  eyes 
opposite. 

"Of  course— it's  too  late  for  that,  bui>— Oh,  well " 

He  broke  off  abruptly  and  walked  toward  the  shaft  as  Os- 
borne  beckoned.  Gregory  stood  a  moment,  his  head  bent 
forward.  He  had  experienced  the  sensation  of  coming 
into  contact  with  an  electrical  wave.  But  he  was  smiling 
pleasantly  as  he  joined  his  guest  at  the  shaft  house. 

After  the  visit  to  the  mine,  during  which  he  amiably 
pointed  out  the  dip  of  the  vein  toward  his  own  property, 
and  Mr.  Robinson  succumbed  to  the  charm  which  never 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     153 

missed  fire  when  Gregory  chose  to  exert  it,  they  walked 
back  to  the  ranch,  where  a  team  awaited  the  ambassador  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"I've  had  quite  a  delightful  visit/'  began  Mr.  Robin 
son,  when  Gregory  interrupted : 

"I've  no  intention  of  letting  you  go.  You  must  have 
supper  at  the  farm  and  meet  Oakley.  I'll  send  off  the 
rig  and  drive  you  in  myself " 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  troubling  you "  Eobinson, 

red  again,  stood  in  almost  agitated  embarrassment. 

"No  train  to  Butte  till  nine- thirty.  You  don't  want 
to  spend  four  hours  in  Pony?" 

"The  fact  is But  whatever  he  had  on  his  mind 

died  on  his  lips.  He  looked  sharply  into  the  bland  smiling 
eyes  opposite,  and  concluded  abruptly,  "All  right.  Many 
thanks.  Glad  of  the  chance  to  know  you  better. ' ' 

He  paid  off  the  driver  of  the  team  and  they  walked 
toward  the  ranch  house,  Gregory  commenting  on  Oakley's 
genius  for  dry  farming,  and  expatiating  upon  the  excellence 
of  the  crops.  Mining  was  not  mentioned  again  during  the 
evening  and  the  lawyer  enjoyed  an  excellent  supper. 

Gregory  drove  him  to  Pony,  and  clung  to  him  so  closely 
that  he  had  no  opportunity  to  visit  the  telegraph  office  or 
a  telephone  booth.  They  shook  hands  cordially  as  the 
train  moved  off.  When  it  was  out  of  sight  Gregory  sent 
a  telegram  to  Mark  telling  him  to  take  the  first  train  next 
morning  for  Virginia  City  and  meet  him  in  the  Court 
House.  He  took  his  car  to  a  garage  and  spent  the  night 
in  Pony.  On  the  following  morning  at  nine  o'clock  he 
walked  into  the  Tax  Collector's  office  at  the  County  Seat. 


XXV 

E  County  Treasurer,  who  had  just  come  in,  looked 
blank  for  a  moment,  then  greeted  his  visitor  with 
effusive  cordiality. 

"Always  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Compton.  It  does  a  poor 
clerk's  heart  good  just  to  look  at  a  man  who's  such  a 
favourite  of  fortune.  Sit  down,  sir." 

"I  will.     I've  a  good  deal  to  say." 

"Staked  off  the  rest  of  your  ranch?  It'll  be  some  little 
time  yet  before  you  get  those  patents  through  you've 
applied  for  already " 

"What  do  the  taxes  foot  up  on  the  Oro  Fino  Primo 
Mine?" 

"Ah— What?"  The  man's  face  turned  scarlet,  then 
white.  He  was  a  young  man,  clerically  able,  but  otherwise 

insignificant.      "Why "      Then    he    became    voluble. 

'  *  The  Primo  mine,  over  there  near  your  place  ?  It 's  a  new 
claim,  isn't  it?  Never  heard  of  it  before  those  fellows 
from  New  York  sank  a  shaft  and  struck  it  rich.  Why 
should  there  be  any  taxes  before  the  regular " 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Judge  Stratton  pat 
ented  that  mine  and  did  the  necessary  amount  of  develop 
ment  work,  then  found  it  salted  and  abandoned  it.  That 
was'  twenty-eight  years  ago.  He  forgot  it,  and  so,  appar 
ently,  did  this  office.  It  was  regarded  as  an  abandoned 
prospect  hole,  if  anyone  thought  about  it  at  all.  I  haven't 
discussed  the  matter  with  Mr.  Blake,  but  assume  that  he's 
merely  been  waiting  for  his  bill.  Now,  for  reasons  of  my 
own,  I've  telegraphed  him  to  meet  me  here  this  morning, 
but  in  case  he  can't  come  I'm  prepared  to  pay  the  amount 
myself.  How  much?"  and  he  took  out  his  checque  book. 

The  treasurer  looked  as  if  the  cane  seat  of  his  chair 
had  turned  to  hot  coals.  "Really — that  is  a  large  order, 
Mr.  Compton.  Twenty-eight  years.  It  will  take  time  to  go 
over  the  records." 

"I'm  prepared  to  wait  all  day  if  necessary." 

"But  why  this  haste?" 

154 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     155 

"I  have  my  reasons.  They  don't  concern  you  in  the 
least.  Do  they?" 

''Why — no — but  I  am  very  busy " 

"Then  put  someone  else  on  the  job.  I  assume  that  the 
county  is  not  averse  to  raking  in  a  tidy  little  sum  in  a 
hurry." 

"Really " 

Gregory  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled  pleasantly. 

"You  had  a  telephone  from  Mr.  John  Robinson  this 
morning. ' ' 

This  time  the  man  started  visibly,  but  he  made  an  ef 
fort  to  control  himself.  "I  have  just  come  in— 

"He  telephoned  to  you  last  night,  did  he  not?  What 
did  he  offer  you  to  permit  him  to  pay  those  taxes  to-day  ? ' ' 

"I  will  not  be  insulted,  sir."  The  man's  voice  was  al 
most  a  scream.  He  heartily  wished  he  had  been  in  train 
ing  a  few  years  longer,  a  graduate  of  the  famous  Heinze- 
Amalgamated  orgy  of  corruption,  or  of  the  Clark-Daly 
epoch,  when  nearly  every  man  in  office  had  been  bribed 
or  hoped  to  be.  "I  never  heard  of  Mr.  Robinson!" 

"Of  course  he  reminded  you  that  as  the  taxes  are  long 
delinquent  the  county  has  the  right  to  put  the  property 
up  at  public  auction,  and  that  in  any  case  Mrs.  Blake 
would  hardly  be  given  the  usual  year  in  which  to  redeem 
it.  But  why  auction  when  the  money  is  ready  to  be  paid 
over  at  once?  How  much  did  he  offer  you?" 

"I  repeat— 

"I  think  I  can  guess.  It  was  five  thousand  dollars. 
I'll  make  it  ten.  Get  to  work." 

The  man,  in  whom  excitement  had  destroyed  his  appe 
tite  for  breakfast,  and  who  had  started  out  in  life  with 
the  usual  negative  ideals  of  honesty,  burst  into  tears.  ' '  My 
God!"  he  sobbed.  "I've  heard  of  the  third  degree.  Your 
eyes  bore  a  hole  through  one.  They  hurt,  I  say.  To  think 
that  you  should  come  in  here  and  accuse  me  of  taking 
bribes. ' ' 

"Oh,  hell,  cut  it  out.  Montana  may  be  a  great  state, 
but  she  has  her  rotten  spot  like  any  other.  She's  been  so 
debauched  the  last  twenty  years  by  open  bribery  that  I 
doubt  if  you  could  lay  your  hand  on  a  hundred  men  in 
her  that  haven't  had  a  roll  anywhere  from  five  hundred 
to  twenty  thousand  dollars  passed  to  them,  and  pocketed 
it.  Estimable  citizens,  too,  but  a  man  never  knows  his 


156    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

weak  spot  until  he  has  a  wad  of  easy  money  thrust  under 
his  nose — or  flung  over  his  transom.  You  are  no  worse 
than  the  rest.  Do  you  take  my  offer?" 

The  County  Treasurer  recovered  himself  with  amazing 
alacrity.  Ten  thousand  dollars  in  a  lump  never  had 
haunted  his  wildest  dreams. 

"All  right,  sir.  It's  a  bargain.  But  I  want  bills.  No 
checks  for  me." 

' '  I  congratulate  you  on  your  foresight !  But  there  have 
been  times  in  this  state  when  check  books  were  not 
opened  for  months.  You  shall  have  it  in  bills.  "Where  are 
the  records?" 

"In  the  vault  there." 

"Ill  sit  here.  If  you  attempt  to  leave  the  room  to 
go  to  a  telephone  I'll  drag  you  out  on  the  Court  House 
steps  and  tell  the  story  to  the  town.  Now  get  to  work." 

"I'll  keep  my  word,  sir,  and  I  know  you'll  keep  yours." 
He  went  into  the  vault  and  appeared  later  trundling  out 
a  pile  of  records,  then  sat  down  at  a  table  and  concentrated 
his  mind  as  earnestly  as  if  corruption  had  never  blighted 
it.  Gregory  watched  him  until  Mark  entered.  Then  the 
two  men  went  out  into  the  corridor,  standing  where  they 
could  see  the  table.  Gregory  recounted  his  interview  with 
Mr.  John  Kobinson,  and  the  present  sequel. 

Mark  listened  with  his  mouth  open,  an  expression  of  pro 
found  chagrin  loosening  the  muscles  of  his  cheerful 
healthy  shrewd  face. 

"By  George!"  he  cried.  "And  to  think  that  was  the 
one  thing  I  never  thought  of.  Of  course  I  knew  about 
the  delinquent  taxes,  and  intended  to  pay  them  when  I  was 
good  and  ready;  but  what's  the  use  of  forking  over  till 
you  have  to?  But  not  to  have  thought  of  this!  And  I 
pride  myself  upon  sleeping  with  one  eye  open — never  was 
caught  napping  yet ! "  And  for  five  minutes  he  exploited 
his  vocabulary  of  profanity,  heaping  each  epithet  upon  his 
own  humiliated  head. 

Gregory  laughed.  "Merely  another  proof  that  two 
heads  are  better  than  one.  Do  you  stand  for  the  ten 
thousand  ?  If  not  I  '11  pay  half. ' ' 

"I'd  pay  fifty " 

"I'll  pay  half,"  said  Gregory  definitely.  "It  means  as 
much  to  me  as  to  you." 

"All  right.     Jimniiny,  but  they're  clever!"     He  was 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     157 

calmer  and  his  astute  legal  brain  was  moved  to  admiration. 
'  *  But  you  are  cleverer.  I  Ve  always  sworn  by  you.  They  '11 
get  a  jolt  all  right.  How  did  you  catch  on,  anyhow?" 

"I  fancy  I  got  a  wireless.  The  other  man  was  thinking 
hard  and  so  was  I — had  practically  nothing  else  in  our 
minds.  Those  things  will  be  better  explained  some  day. 
Perhaps  it  was  merely  a  good  guess." 

"You  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  all  right.  I'll  have  a  let 
ter  to  write  to  Ora  next  Sunday!  She's  had  a  narrow 
squeak,  and  she  shall  know  whom  to  thank  for  it." 

"Oh,  cut  that  out." 

Gregory  went  to  the  bank  and  drew  the  ten  thousand 
dollars,  while  Mark  kept  watch.  When  the  bill  was  finally 
made  out,  Mark  examined  it  critically,  and  then  gave  his 
personal  checque.  Three  months  later  the  County  Treas 
urer  resigned  his  office  on  the  ground  of  ill  health  and 
bought  an  orange  grove  in  Southern  California.  There 
he  and  his  growing  family  enjoy  a  respected,  prosperous, 
bucolic  life. 


XXVI 

RE  GORY  had  scored  against  the  most  powerful  com- 
bination  of  capital  in  the  world.  He  knew  that  they 
knew  he  had  scored,  for  he  had  met  Mr.  John  Robinson  as 
he  descended  the  Court  House  steps  with  the  husband  of 
the  delinquent  taxpayer,  and  he  felt  reasonably  elated. 
But  the  keenest  and  canniest  brains  are  not  infallible,  and 
he  underestimated  the  resources  of  his  mighty  and  now 
open  enemy.  Three  mornings  later,  while  he  was  still 
asleep,  Joshua  Mann,  the  miner  in  his  confidence  and  de 
voted  to  his  interests,  burst  into  the  cabin  and  shook 
him. 

"There's  the  devil  to  pay,  sir,"  he  cried.  "Amalga 
mated  has  staked  off  a  claim  between  our  boundary  line 
and  Primo." 

Gregory  sat  up  in  bed.  He  never  awakened  dazed,  but 
with  every  faculty  alert.  "What  are  you  talking  about? 
The  Primo  claim  almost  overlaps  the  ranch." 

"So  anyone  would  think.  But  it  doesn't  That's  the 
point.  Of  course  the  old  stakes  of  the  Primo  rotted  long 
ago.  They  must  have  got  hold  of  the  original  map.  But 
there  it  is:  a  bit  of  unclaimed  land  between  Primo  and 
the  ranch.  There  isn't  much  more  than  room  to  sink  a 
shaft,  but  there  is,  all  right.  Guess  they've  got  us  on  the 
hip. ' '  And  having  delivered  his  news  he  relieved  his  mind 
with  profanity,  of  which  he  too  had  a  choice  assortment. 

Gregory  flung  on  his  clothes  and  accompanied  by  Mann 
walked  hastily  to  the  edge  of  the  hill.  There,  sure  enough, 
were  the  four  posts  and  the  flaunting  notice  of  a  located 
claim. 

"Must  have  done  it  between  shifts  last  night,"  com 
mented  ,  the  miner.  l '  Didn  't  take  long  and  the  moon 
helped.  By  jing! — if  I'd  been  round  with  a  shotgun! 
Well,  there  '11  be  fun  underground  sames  on  top.  The  mo 
ment  they  break  through  we'll  be  ready  for  'em.  They 
may  get  there  but  they  won't  stay  long.  The  boys  will 

158 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     159 

like  the  fun;  and  we'd  put  our  last  cent  on  you — know  a 
winner  when  we  see  one." 

"Put  on  an  extra  force  and  make  them  work  like  hell. 
We  must  get  here  first.  When  I  'm  not  below  you  're  boss. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  sir.     I'll  keep  'em  on  the  job,  all  right." 

"Promise  them  extra  pay.  Come  up  to  me  at  eight 
o'clock  to-night  and  we'll  talk  it  over." 

He  went  back  to  the  cabin  and  telephoned  to  Mark  to 
come  out  at  once.  The  lawyer  arrived  in  the  course  of 
the  morning.  The  first  ten  minutes  of  the  interview  may 
be  passed  over.  Then  Mark  recovered  his  equilibrium.  He 
lit  a  cigar,  demanded  a  drink,  and  elevated  his  feet  to 
the  table. 

"We'll  just  thresh  this  question  out,  turn  the  spot-light 
on  every  side  of  it,  present  and  future.  We  ought  to  have 
done  it  before,  but  that  first  victory  was  a  little  too 
heady.  Nothing  like  a  defeat  to  clear  the  brain.  What's 
the  first  thing  they  '11  do  ?  They  won 't  waste  time  sinking 
a  shaft  if  they  can  help  it.  That's  the  hardest  kind  of 
country  rock.  They'll  try  to  buy  up  the  lease  from 
Douglas  and  Osborne.  I  haven't  the  lease  with  me,  but 
most  leases  carry  a  clause  which  permits  the  original 
lessees  to  sub-let.  I  fancy  I  could  get  out  an  injunction 
and  delay  them,  however,  until  the  lease  expired.  But 
what  they  can  do,  all  right,  is  to  bribe  those  two  men  to 
give  them  the  use  of  their  cross-cut — the  one  that  has 
already  struck  your  vein — while  they  were  sinking  the 
shaft.  Do  you  think  they'll  fall  for  it?" 

"My  experience  is  that  most  men  can  be  bribed  if  the 
roll  is  big  enough.  Osborne  and  Douglas  are  pretty  dis 
couraged,  although  they've  begun  to  drift  across  the  fault. 
I'll  talk  to  them,  but  they're  not  square  men.  Amalga- 
ated  could  pretend  to  be  sinking  a  shaft  against  time  itself, 
and  be  drifting  for  all  they  were  worth  on  the  Primo  vein. 
I  understand  that  Amalgamated 's  head  geologist  has  been 
nosing  round  for  some  time  and  has  concluded  there's  a 
parallel  fissure  in  their  claim  and  that  they  can  'prove' 
apex  rights." 

"How  deep  do  you  figure  they'd  have  to  sink  to  strike 
the  vein  at  that  point?" 

"About  two  hundred  feet,  owing  to  that  surface  bump." 

"And  it  apexes  here.  There's  no  getting  round  that — 
with  a  square  deal.  But  they  figure  on  proving  that 


160     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

they've  the  main  vein,  and  yours  is  an  offshoot?  The  case 
would  go  to  Helena — to  the  Federal  Courts — as  Amalgam 
ated  was  incorporated  out  of  the  state.  That's  bad.  If 
the  case  could  be  tried  in  Virginia  City,  and  there  was  a 
good  healthy  suspicion  that  the  Judge  was  expecting  to 
retire  in  comfort,  you  could  apply  for  a  change  of  venue 
— result  of  that  odorous  chapter  in  our  history  when 
every  judge  was  on  the  pay  roll  of  either  Heinze  or 
Amalgamated.  Well,  at  least  there's  public  opinion  to 
be  considered;  the  state  is  waking  up.  Here  is  one  thing 
we  can  do.  If  it  comes  to  a  knock-out  fight  and  the  case 
goes  to  Helena,  we  can  get  out  an  expert  geologist  of 
national  reputation,  whose  record  shows  him  to  be  above 
bribes,  and  who  will  be  bound  to  testify  that  the  vein 
apexes  in  your  claim.  Becke  of  the  School  of  Mines,  will 
find  the  man  we  want.  Now,  what's  your  first  move?" 

"To  stope  the  vein  as  far  as  the  boundary  line,  which 
of  course  is  my  side-line,  and  as  far  down  as  possible.  If 
they  won  in  the  courts  I'd  have  to  fork  over  eventually, 
but  they'd  have  to  wait  for  it,  and  they'll  get  a  good  jolt 
underground." 

"You're  much  too  calm.  What  have  you  got  up  your 
sleeve?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  that  when  the  time  comes.  It  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  present  case.  The  best  thing  you  can  do 
now  is  to  make  the  whole  thing  public  and  get  public 
opinion  behind  us.  They  don't  own  all  the  newspapers  in 
the  state,  and  they  don't  own  all  the  newspapers  in  the 
rest  of  the  country,  either.  Are  you  on?" 

' l  You  bet.  Aren  t  you  afraid  there  '11  be  a  sudden  strike 
among  your  miners?  After  all,  Amalgamated  is  popular 
among  the  mining  class.  They  pay  good  wages  and  treat 
the  men  pretty  squarely  all  round.  I  '11  say  that  much  for 
them." 

"I'm  not  worrying  about  that.  I'll  raise  the  wages  of 
my  miners,  and  they  like  me.  I  call  every  one  of  them  by 
his  first  name,  and  they're  men — not  a  Bohunk  among 
them — and  like  the  idea,  too,  of  a  fight  under  a  good  cap 
tain.  If  I'd  put  an  Eastern  manager  in  who'd  put  on 
dog,  it  might  be  different,  but  I've  worked  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  them,  and  not  one  of  them  has  stuck  harder 
to  his  job.  Besides,  Mann  is  devoted  to  me,  and  has  great 
influence  over  them." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     161 

"Well,  Amalgamated  can't  queer  you  in  the  East,  for 
you  get  your  roll  from  the  Smelting  Works.  If  that  went 
back  on  you " 

"I'm  not  worrying  about  that,  either.  Torrence  is  a 
friend  of  mine.  He's  also  a  Mason.  If  things  get  hot  he'll 
give  headquarters  a  hint  that  my  men,  their  blood  being 
up,  are  as  likely  as  not  to  make  a  bonfire  somewhere.  Get 
back  to  town  and  give  the  story  to  the  new  evening  paper. 
Its  lay  is  to  fight  Amalgamated  for  the  sake  of  notoriety. 
See  that  their  brightest  man  writes  a  story  for  one  of  the 
biggest  New  York  and  Chicago  newspapers.  Now,  clear  out. 
I've  got  to  go  below." 


xxvn 

next  day  Gregory  visited  a  mine  in  Lewis  and  Clark 
County  which  recently  had  shut  down,  and  bought 
a  compressor  at  second  hand.  His  miners  with  the  air 
drills  were  soon  working  at  five  times  the  rate  of  speed  that 
had  been  possible  with  the  hand  drills.  The  contractor  in 
charge  of  the  development  work  on  what  was  impudently 
known  as  the  Apex  Mine,  had  installed  a  gasoline  hoist, 
every  new  device,  and  as  large  a  force  as  it  was  possible  at 
that  early  stage  to  employ  with  profit.  Gregory  inter 
viewed  Osborne  and  Douglas,  and  obtained  profuse  assur 
ances,  but  Mann  soon  discovered  that  there  was  an  in 
creased  force  on  the  Primo  copper  vein.  Their  original 
lease  was  nearly  up  but  they  had  accepted  Mark's  offer  of 
two  months'  grace;  an  offer  he  deeply  regretted  now,  but 
the  papers  were  signed  and  sealed.  They  made  a  feint  of 
pushing  the  drift  across  the  fault,  but  as  they  employed 
a  small  force  at  that  point  there  was  little  room  for  doubt 
that  they  had  been  amply  compensated  for  a  doubtful 
undertaking. 

Meanwhile  work  on  the  great  surface  chamber  of  Perch 
of  the  Devil  Mine  was  drawing  to  a  close.  It  had  proved 
to  be  a  hundred  feet  long,  thirty  feet  wide,  and  seventy  feet 
deep,  and  had  netted  half  a  million  dollars.  Some  time 
since  one  of  the  larger  houses  on  the  West  Side  in  Butte, 
built  by  a  millionaire  while  still  faithful  to  Montana,  but 
whose  family  now  spent  twelve  months  of  the  year  in 
Europe,  New  York,  or  California,  had  been  thrown  on  the 
market  for  less  than  a  third  of  its  cost;  new  millionaires 
are  not  as  plentiful  in  Amalgamated  Butte  as  of  old,  and 
that  unique  camp  is  still  a  perch,  even  for  those  that  make 
moderate  fortunes;  if  no  longer  for  the  devil.  It  never 
will  be  a  favourite  roost  for  the  gamecock's  hens  and 
chicks.  The  hotels  and  "  blocks "  are  always  overcrowded, 
and  even  bungalows  are  in  demand  by  the  energetic  but 
impermanent  young  engineers  and  managers  of  the  various 

162 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     163 

companies ;  but ' '  palatial  residences, ' '  built  by  enthusiastic 
citizens  who  either  died  promptly  or  retired  in  favour  of 
their  families,  are  a  drug  on  that  great  market  they 
helped  to  build.  When  the  Murphy  house,  therefore,  was 
advertised  for  sale  Gregory  bought  it  for  Ida  and  cabled 
her  the  news  together  with  five  thousand  dollars  Mark  had 
recently  made  for  him  on  the  stock  market. 

Above  these  and  other  expenditures,  he  now  had  half  a 
million  dollars  to  his  credit,  but  he  wanted  a  million 
more.  The  new  vein  was  very  rich  for  chalcopyrite,  but 
its  depth  was  problematical,  and  it  might  drop  in  values  at 
any  moment.  If  his  belief  in  his  hill  was  justified  and 
there  were  huge  primary  deposits  below,  there  would  be 
no  end ^ to  his  riches;  but  it  would  take  a  year  or  more  to 
determine  that  point;  and  meanwhile  he  wanted  at  least 
a  million  and  a  half,  not  only  to  meet  the  possible  expenses 
of  litigation,  but  to  mine  at  depth  and  to  open  up  his  other 
claims  in  case  Amalgamated,  when  it  reached  the  chal 
copyrite  vein,  claimed  that  it  apexed  in  their  property, 
got  out  an  injunction,  and  forced  him  to  cease  work 
on  it. 

But  he  had  another  and  to  him  a  still  more  vital  reason 
for  wishing  to  make  a  great  sum  of  money.  Half  a  million 
dollars,  particularly  when  spectacularly  acquired,  alters 
a  man's  position  in  his  community  at  once,  and  the  read 
justment  of  his  own  mental  attitude  toward  life  follows  as 
a  matter  of  course ;  particularly  in  a  country  where  money 
not  only  talks  but  rules.  He  was  now  treated,  when  busi 
ness  took  him  to  any  of  the  towns,  as  a 'permanent  capi 
talist  of  the  great  state  of  Montana ;  moreover,  his  romantic 
attitude  toward  his  hill  having  been  inevitably  dampened 
by  its  yield  of  mere  copper,  his  appreciation  of  its  heavy 
contribution  to  his  bank  account  was  wholly  practical. 
He  not  only  began  to  forecast  himself  as  one  of  the  small 
group  of  front-rank  millionaires  which  Montana  has  do 
nated  to  the  American  Brotherhood  of  Millionaires,  but 
to  be  sensible  of  the  sudden  and  active  growth  of  those 
business  instincts  he  had  always  known  were  dormant 
in  his  brain.  It  had  needed  but  the  rousing  of  his  fighting 
instinct,  the  success  of  its  first  move,  and  the  swift  counter- 
move  of  the  enemy,  to  awaken  the  permanent  desire,  not 
alone  to  pit  his  brains  against  Amalgamated,  but  to  show 
the  world  what  he  could  do.  In  short  he  was  on  his  met- 


164     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

tie,  and  conscious  for  the  first  time  of  his  powers  and  ulti 
mate  ambitions. 

He  had  found  his  mine  by  an  accident.  Nature  had 
flung  it  into  his  lap.  He  was  now  determined  to  prove  that 
he  could  make  money  with  the  resources  of  his  brain  as 
rapidly  as  the  more  famous  of  the  Montanans  had  made  it 
in  the  past,  when  opportunities  were  supposed  to  be  more 
numerous.  There  never  was  a  time  when  opportunity  did 
not  coincide  with  the  man,  and  of  this  Gregory  was  con 
temptuously  aware  when  he  dismissed  the  usual  Wall 
Street  resource  as  commonplace,  beneath  the  consideration 
of  a  man  living  in  a  state  whose  resources  had  barely  been 
tapped. 

When  live  brains  of  peculiar  gifts  think  hard  and  unin 
terruptedly  on  a  given  subject  they  become  magnets.  Greg 
ory  paid  frequent  visits  to  Butte  and  Helena,  talking 
casually  with  many  men,  In  less  than  a  fortnight  he  found 
his  cue,  and,  accompanied  by  a  civil  engineer,  disappeared 
for  a  week. 


XXVIII 

TWENTY  years  ago  it  v/as  the  ambition  of  every  Cali- 
fornian,  no  matter  how  blatant  his  state  pride,  to 
move  to  New  York.  To-day  he  hopes  to  live  and  die  in 
California,  the  main  reason  being  that  the  women  of  his 
family  find  themselves  members  of  a  comparatively  old  and 
settled  community,  enjoying  many  advantages  and  no  lit 
tle  importance;  given  frequent  trips  abroad  they  are  con 
tent  to  remain  at  home  in  houses  of  modern  architecture, 
and  to  command  a  social  position  that  New  York  has 
granted  to  only  two  or  three  of  California's  heiresses  and 
millionaires.  Montanans,  at  present,  those  that  are  rich  or 
merely  independent,  are  in  the  migratory  phase  of  the 
earlier  Californian;  but  as  New  York  has  extended  to 
them  an  even  more  grudging  welcome  than  it  did  to  as 
pirants  from  the  more  picturesque  state,  they  visit  it, 
after  successive  social  disappointments,  merely  for  its 
dressmakers  and  those  exterior  advantages  that  may  be 
exchanged  for  gold;  the  majority  migrate  to  "The  Coast," 
more  particularly  to  Southern  California.  There  they  not 
only  find  relief  on  the  sea-level  from  an  altitude  that  plays 
havoc  with  the  nerves,  but,  in  the  mushroom  Southern 
cities,  social  position  may  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  every 
advantage  for  growing  children. 

Gregory  had  heard  of  a  man  named  Griffiths,  owner  of 
the  Circle  G  Ranch,  a  tract  of  land  covering  seventy- 
five  thousand  acres,  who  was  anxious  to  sell  and  move  to 
Los  Angeles.  As  the  ranch  was  practically  waterless  and 
thirty  miles  from  a  railroad,  his  only  chance  of  disposing 
of  it  was  by  means  of  an  alluring  bargain.  He  was  will 
ing  to  sell  the  ranch,  his  large  herds  of  horses  and  cattle, 
and  bands  of  sheep  for  half  a  million  dollars. 

Gregory  returned  to  Butte  without  the  engineer,  went 
directly  to  Blake's  office,  and  laid  his  programme  before  his 
astounded  friend  and  legal  adviser. 

He  had  found  Griffiths  a  man  unaccustomed  to  busi- 

165 


166     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

ness  but  with  his  mind  set  upon  retiring  with  a  capital  of 
half  a  million  dollars.  His  efforts  in  money-making1 
hitherto,  had  been  confined  to  acquiring  rather  than 
disposing  of  property,  and  his  trading  consisted  of  con 
verting  live  stock  into  such  cash  as  was  necessary  for  the 
purchase  of  necessities  not  raised  on  his  property.  But 
he  was  nearly  sixty,  his  wife  and  four  daughters  had  be 
sought  him  for  years  to  sell  out  and  take  them  to  Cali 
fornia,  and  he  was  now  persuaded  that  he  was  as  tired  of 
life  in  the  wilds  of  Montana  as  they  were.  He  was,  how 
ever,  possessed  of  one  fixed  idea,  to  leave  each  of  his 
"women  folks"  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  when  he 
died.  Therefore  would  he  not  take  a  cent  less  than  five 
times  that  amount  for  his  fine  property;  but  although  he 
inserted  the  advertisement  that  had  caught  Gregory's  eye, 
so  far  he  had  been  unsuccessful.  One  man  found  the  ranch 
too  far  from  a  railroad,  another  no  good  for  farming,  save 
intensive,  as  it  was  without  a  water  supply;  still  another 
was  willing  to  pay  only  a  third  of  the  amount  down,  with 
easy  terms  for  the  remainder. 

"It's  five  hundred  thousand  cold  cash,"  said  Mr.  Grif 
fiths  to  Gregory ;  although  in  a  burst  of  confidence  later  he 
had  said:  "What  the  dickens  I'm  goin'  to  do  with  that 
great  wad  of  money  when  I  get  it  beats  me !  It  turns  me 
cold  to  think  of  it." 

Gregory  had  remained  on  the  ranch  two  days,  inventory 
ing  its  stock,  buildings,  and  natural  resources.  He  esti 
mated  that  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  property  was  plow- 
land,  the  rest  "rough,  wooded,  and  rolling."  There  were 
several  sets  of  buildings  on  it,  and  the  cattle  and  sheep 
sheds  were  in  good  condition.  The  cattle,  sheep,  and  horses 
could  be  sold  on  a  rising  market  for  $200,000,  thus  reducing 
the  cost  of  the  land  to  four  dollars  an  acre.  After  asking 
and  receiving  an  option  for  thirty  days,  Gregory  inti 
mated  that  he  would  like  to  extend  his  trip  into  the  moun 
tains  in  search  of  float,  and  hired  two  riding  horses  and 
a  pack  horse  from  his  host,  besides  buying  of  him  the 
necessary  food  supply.  Incidentally,  in  the  course  of 
conversation  he  learned  that  there  was  a  river  "some- 
wheres  in  the  mountains  between  thirty  and  forty  miles 
northeast. ' ' 

He  received  more  minute  directions  from  a  prospector 
regarding  this  body  of  water,  which  was  the  object  of  his 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     167 

trip,  and  six  miles  from  Circle- G  entered  a  ravine  some 
twenty-five  miles  long.  After  climbing  one  of  the  moun 
tain  sides  that  bounded  the  ravine,  descending  and  cross 
ing  another  gulch,  and  climbing  again,  he  and  his  com 
panion  saw,  far  below,  between  the  narrow  walls  of  a 
canon,  an  abundant  mountain  stream. 

The  engineer  proposed  to  divert  this  body  of  water  to 
Circle- G  Ranch.  Through  the  nearest  mountain  side  he 
should  drive  a  tunnel  six  hundred  feet  long,  and  cross 
the  short  and  crooked  ravine  with  a  thousand  feet  of  flume 
to  a  point  where  it  would  be  necessary  to  drive  another 
tunnel,  about  two  hundred  feet  in  length.  This  would  con 
duct  the  diverted  body  of  water  into  the  long  ravine,  down 
which  it  would  flow  to  a  point  six  miles  above  the  ranch. 
Here  the  engineer  purposed  to  construct  a  dam  thirty 
feet  high  for  the  purpose  of  raising  the  water  to  an  eleva 
tion  from  which  it  would  flow  through  a  canal  or  "ditch*', 
to  the  more  level  portions  of  the  ranch.  A  rough  estimate 
of  the  cost  of  this  project,  from  headworks  to  ditch  was 
$300,000. 

He  returned  to  Circle-G,  told  Mr.  Griffiths  that  he  had 
found  no  float,  but  nevertheless  liked  the  neighbourhood 
and  was  inclined  to  buy  the  ranch  and  sell  it  in  small 
farms  to  settlers.  He  would  return  to  Butte  and  think 
it  over.  If  he  concluded  to  buy  he  would  pay  a  half  mil 
lion  dollars  in  cash,  and,  if  Mr.  Griffiths  were  agreeable 
borrow  back  $300,000,  for  improvements,  giving  a  mortgage 
at  seven  per  cent,  on  the  forty  thousand  acres  he  proposed 
to  make  attractive  for  settlers.  He  gave  no  hint  of  his 
irrigation  project.  Griffiths  had  known  of  this  body  of 
water,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  nor  to  anyone  else 
to  divert  it.  He  was  a  stock-grower,  pure  and  simple,  with 
no  "modern  notions",  and  Gregory  had  no  intention  of 
enlarging  his  vision.  He  would  pay  the  man  his  price,  but 
he  had  the  ruthlessness  of  his  type. 

He  had  more  than  one  motive  for  offering  to  borrow 
back  $300,000  of  the  payment  money;  not  only  should  he 
need  it  at  once,  but  he  feared,  after  Mr.  Griffith's  confi 
dence,  and  knowing  his  kind,  that  the  old  man  would  with 
draw  in  terror  at  the  last  moment,  preferring  the  safe 
monotonies  of  his  ranch  to  the  unknown  responsibilities  of 
a  capitalist;  like  others  he  had  heard  that  it  is  sometimes 
easier  to  get  money  than  to  invest  it.  Gregory  told  him 


168     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL1 

to  think  it  over  and  write  to  the  Daly  and  Clark  Banks  in 
Butte,  and  to  the  National  Bank  of  Montana,  in  Helena,  for 
information  regarding  his  own  standing  and  financial  con 
dition.  He  left  the  entire  family  in  as  hopeful  a  frame  of 
mind  as  himself. 

On  confirmation  of  the  report  that  forty  thousand  acres 
could  be  put  under  water  by  gravity,  he  should  close  the 
deal  at  once,  file  a  notice  of  appropriation  for  forty 
thousand  miner's  inches  of  water,  and  begin  work  on  the 
first  tunnel.  He  then  intended  to  lay  the  matter  before 
one  of  the  great  land-selling  organisations  of  Chicago  or 
New  York,  proposing  that  he  be  paid  $1,400,000  for  the 
forty  thousand  acres  of  irrigated  land,  subject  to  mort 
gage  ;  demonstrating  that  the  land  so  purchased  for  thirty- 
five  dollars  an  acre  (or  forty- three  and  a  half  dollars  in 
cluding  the  mortgage)  could  readily  be  sold  to  settlers 
for  one  hundred,  if  railroad  facilities  were  provided.  As 
a  further  inducement,  to  cover  the  cost  of  railroad  con 
struction,  he  would  execute  a  deed  and  place  it  in  escrow, 
as  a  guarantee  and  evidence  of  good  faith,  and  accom 
panied  by  a  contract  authorising  the  land  selling  company 
to  dispose  of  the  remaining  thirty-five  thousand  acres  at 
ten  dollars  an  acre.  The  construction  of  the  railroad  would 
add  materially  to  the  value  of  the  unirrigated  land  also, 
and  a  pledge  of  this  portion  of  the  property  as  security 
that  the  railroad  would  be  built  would  be  acceptable,  be 
cause  the  estimated  cost,  with  liberal  allowances,  was 
under  $350,000. 

The  sum  paid  him  by  the  land  selling  company  would, 
in  addition  to  the  large  sum  realised  by  the  sale  of  the  live 
stock,  give  him  at  least  $1,600,000,  or  $1,100,000  over  the 
half  million  originally  invested. 

Mark  listened  with  his  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open. 

"By  George!"  he  exclaimed,  when  Gregory  finished. 
"Did  you  dope  all  that  out  yourself?  That's  the  talk  of 
a  man  who 's  been  in  the  land  business  for  years.  How  did 
you  ever  think  of  it?" 

"What's  a  man's  brain  given  to  him  for — to  turn  round 
in  a  circle?  Do  you  find  the  plan  feasible?" 

"It's  feasible  all  right — given  a  cold  half  million  in 
hand  and  brains  behind  it — plus  imagination.  That's  where 
you  win  out.  You'll  be  the  richest  man  in  Montana  yet." 

"I  intend  to  be." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     169 

"And  the  first  man  born  here  to  make  one  of  the  old- 
time  fortunes/' 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that!" 

Mark  dismissed  enthusiasm  and  put  his  own  astute  brain 
to  work. 

"The  hitch  will  be  with  your  land  selling  company. 
They  might  be  dazzled,  even  convinced,  but  they're  cold 
blooded,  and  they  never  have  any  too  much  cash  on  hand. 
What  special  line  of  argument  do  you  propose  to  hand 
out?" 

"Several.  I  didn't  go  to  the  Circle-G  Ranch  without 
making  certain  investigations  beforehand.  In  the  first 
place  Government  statistics  prove  the  productivity  of  Mon 
tana  soil  without  irrigation.  I  am  not  the  first  to  discover 
that  this  same  soil  when  irrigated  is  insured  against  crop 
failure.  In  the  second  place  a  study  of  the  U.  S.  Govern 
ment  reclamation  projects  convinced  me  that  I  could,  all 
things  being  favourable  (such  as  water  supply  and  grav 
ity),  put  a  large  tract  of  land  under  water  at  a  very  small 
cost  compared  to  the  cost  under  the  plan  of  procedure 
adopted  by  the  Government.  By  the  plan  I  have  mapped 
out  I  can  sell  both  land  and  water  for  less  than  the  cost  of 
water  alone  under  the  Government  direction.  But  I  have  a 
final  inducement  which  I  believe  will  bring  the  selling 
company  to  terms.  Those  forty  thousand  acres  when  irri 
gated  will  be  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  growing  of  seed 
peas.  This  is  the  best  soil  in  the  country  for  peas.  Now 
the  seed  houses  of  the  country  are  in  great  need  of  large 
quantities  of  seed  peas,  and  the  selling  company  could 
easily  interest  these  concerns  to  the  extent  of  securing  their 
financial  backing.  They  would  no  doubt  buy  large  blocks 
themselves.  Such  an  opportunity  has  never  been  offered 
them — forty  thousand  acres  under  the  ditch,  and  adequate 
railroad  service.  This  will  enable  the  selling  company  to 
raise  an  initial  payment  to  me  of  $200,000.  And  if  I 
guarantee  the  ditch  and  the  railroad  they  are  in  a  position 
to  make  the  same  guarantee  to  settlers  to  whom  they  may 
make  sales  in  a  retail  way.  They'll  have  no  difficulty  get 
ting  $100  an  acre  retail;  and  the  seed  houses  no  doubt 
would  invest  and  become  real  owners,  thus  saving  the  profit 
now  paid  to  farmers  who  grow  for  them  under  contract. 
Got  it?'5 

"I  get  you.    But  why  put  all  of  your  own  money  into 


170     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

the  ranch?  Ora  has  taken  something  like  half  a  million 
out  of  that  mine.  I  could  let  you  have  that.'7 

"I'll  risk  no  woman's  money.  Of  course  I  shouldn't 
put  my  own  in  if  I  didn't  believe  it  to  be  a  dead  sure 
thing,  but  there's  always  risk."  He  took  a  packet  of 
papers  from  his  overcoat  pocket.  "Here  are  the  option 
and  abstract  of  titles.  I  wish  you  would  examine  them. 
Say  nothing  of  all  this  at  present — nor  for  a  long  time 
after.  I'll  spring  it  when  I'm  ready — which  will  be  after 
I've  disposed  of  the  irrigated  land.  Will  you  go  out  with 
me  when  I  return  to  Circle-G?  I  shall  want  you  to  at 
tend  to  the  details  of  sale  and  to  the  location  of  the  water 
rights." 

"I'll  go  all  right.  And  I'm  only  living  to  see  what 
you'll  do  next." 


XXTX 

EANWHILE  the  story  of  the  Compton- Amalgamated 
war  was  the  sensation  not  only  of  Montana  but  of  the 
entire  country.  The  Butte  morning  papers  ignored  it,  but 
the  Evening  Bugle  reaped  a  golden  harvest.  The  editor 
himself,  who  was  the  Montana  correspondent  of  one  of  the 
great  New  York  dailies,  made  his  reputation  with  the  most 
sensational  "stuff"  that  had  gone  from  the  Northwest 
since  Heinze  retired  from,  the  field.  The  hill  swarmed  with 
reporters.  Two  Eastern  newspapers  sent  special  corre 
spondents  to  the  spot.  In  less  than  a  fortnight  the  public 
knew  all  there  was  to  know  and  far  more.  Perch  of  the 
Devil  Mine  was  photographed  inside  and  out,  and  its  un 
compromising  ugliness  but  added  to  its  magnetism;  which 
emanated  from  a  "solid  hill  of  metal  just  below  a  thin 
layer  of  barren  soil."  The  general  reader,  who  admired 
the  colour  of  copper,  conceived  that  it  emerged  in  solid 
sheets. 

Gregory  refused  to  be  interviewed  or  photographed,  but 
was  snapshotted ;  and  his  long  sinewy  figure  and  lean  dark 
face,  his  narrow  eyes  and  fine  mouth,  won  the  championship 
of  every  woman  partial  to  the  type.  The  women's  papers, 
as  well  as  those  run  by  radicals,  socialists,  and  conservative 
men  of  independent  tendencies,  advocated  his  cause  against 
the  wicked  trust;  nor  was  there  a  newspaper  in  the  coun 
try,  however  capitalised,  that  resisted  the  temptation  to 
make  him  "big  news."  To  his  unspeakable  annoyance  he 
began  to  receive  letters  by  the  score,  most  of  them  from 
women;  but  he  lost  no  time  employing  a  secretary  whose 
duty  was  to  read  and  burn  them.  He  appreciated  his  fame 
very  vaguely,  for  between  his  mine  and  the  innumerable 
details  connected  with  his  new  ranch,  he  had  little  time 
to  devote  to  newspapers  or  his  own  sensations.  But  al 
though  personal  notoriety  was  distasteful  to  him  and 
reporters  a  nuisance,  he  felt  more  than  compensated  by 
the  success  of  his  publicity  scheme,  and  the  assurance  that 

171 


172     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

it  was  causing  the  enemy  unspeakable  annoyance  and  ap 
prehension. 

He  paid  a  visit  to  Chicago  after  work  had  begun  on 
the  first  tunnel,  and  spent  several  days  with  the  interested 
but  cautious  officials  of  the  greatest  of  the  land  selling  com 
panies.  Like  all  silent  men,  when  he  did  talk  it  was  not 
only  to  the  point,  but  he  used  carefully  composed  argu 
ments  incisively  expressed.  He  indulged  in  no  rhetorical 
flights,  no  enthusiasms,  no  embellishment  of  plain  facts. 
He  might  have  been  a  mathematician  working  out  an  ab 
stract  problem  in  algebra ;  and  this  attitude,  combined  with 
his  reputation  as  a  "winner",  and  the  details  of  his 
cautious  purchase  of  Circle-G  Ranch,  finally  impressed  the 
company  to  the  extent  of  sending  one  of  their  number, 
who  was  an  expert  in  land  values,  to  the  ranch.  Gregory 
accompanied  him,  took  him  to  the  mountain  river,  showed 
him  the  engineer's  report,  pointed  out  the  undeviating 
slope  between  the  river  and  the  ranch,  and  the  land's  rich 
chocolate  brown  soil  of  unlimited  depth.  The  upshot  was 
that  the  expert  returned  to  Chicago  almost  as  enthusiastic 
as  if  the  original  scheme  were  his.  After  consultation 
with  several  of  the  seed  houses,  the  land  company  agreed 
to  buy  on  Compton's  terms,  and  to  pay  $200,000  down, 
$500,000  at  the  end  of  sixty  days,  and  $700,000  at  the  end 
of  four  months. 

Ora  and  Ida  had  asked  for  an  extension  of  leave,  as 
they  had  not  yet  "done"  Italy,  Spain,  and  Egypt,  and 
both  husbands  had  given  a  willing  consent;  Gregory  from 
sheer  indifference;  Mark  because  he  was  so  busy  that  he 
no  longer  had  time  to  miss  his  wife.  He  refused  to  give 
Ora's  picture  to  the  enterprising  correspondents,  but  they 
found  no  difficulty  with  the  local  photographer.  They  had 
not  been  long  uncovering  the  romantic  history  of  the  Oro 
Fino  Primo  Mine,  and  it  made  a  welcome  pendant  to  the 
still  recourseful  "story"  of  Perch  of  the  Devil.  Ora's 
beauty,  accomplishments,  charm,  family  history,  as  well 
as  her  present  social  progress  in  company  with  her  "equally 
beautiful  friend",  the  wife  of  the  hero  of  the  hour,  be 
came  public  property. 

Altogether,  Butte,  after  several  years  of  oblivion,  was 
happy  and  excited.  So  far,  although  mineralogically  the 
most  sensational  state  in  the  Union,  and  the  third  in  size, 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     173 

she  had  given  to  the  world  but  four  highly  specialized  in 
dividuals:  Marcus  Daly,  perhaps  the  greatest  mine  man 
ager  and  ore  wizard  of  our  time ;  W.  A.  Clark,  who  accumu 
lated  millions  as  a  moving  picture  show  rolls  in  dimes;  F. 
Augustus  Heinze,  who  should  be  the  greatest  financial 
power  in  America  if  brains  were  all;  and  the  Sapphic, 
coruscatic,  imperishable  Mary  MacLane.  An  outstanding 
quartette.  But  Daly  was  dead,  Clark  was  but  one  of  many 
millionaires,  submerged  in  New  York,  Heinze  was  reaping 
the  whirlwind,  and  the  poet  was  nursing  her  wounds. 
Montana  was  in  the  mood  for  a  new  hero,  and  the  American 
press  for  a  new  and  picturesque  subject  to  "play  up  for 
all  he  was  worth." 


XXX 

and  Ida  we*e  sitting  at  one  of  the  little  round 
tables  in  the  pretty  green  and  wicker  smoking-room  of 
the  Hotel  Bristol  in  Genoa,  drinking  their  coffee  and  smok 
ing  their  after-luncheon  cigarettes,  when  Ida,  who  was 
glancing  over  the  Herald,  cried, 

"Aw!" 

Ora  looked  round  in  surprise.  Ida  often  relieved  the 
strain  when  they  were  alone  by  relapsing  into  the  vernacu 
lar,  but  was  impressively  elegant  in  public. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  apprehensively.  "Anybody 
we  know  dead?  That  is  about  all  the  news  we  ever  set 
in  these  Continental 


T  ^ead  nothin£-  Greg's  struck  a  bigger  bonanza  than 
1  had  any  idea  of,  and  Amalgamated  is  after  it.  They 
tried  to  corral  your  mine  for  delinquent  taxes,  but  got 
left.  Found  a  bit  of  unclaimed  land  between  your  claim 
and  the  ranch  and  staked  off.  They're  sinking  a  shaft  and 
mean  to  prove  that  the  vein—  Greg's—  apexes  in  their 
claim.  Wouldn't  that  come  and  get  you!  Just  listen." 
And  she  read  aloud  an  embellished  but  not  untruthful  taie 

Glory,  I  hope  they  don't  get  him!  That  would  be  the 
end  of  all  my  fond  dreams." 

"I  have  an  idea  that  Mr.  Compton  was  born  to  win. 
At  all  events  you  have  your  new  house  in  Butte,  and  all 
the  money  you  can  spend  for  the  present." 

"Yes,  but  I  want  money  to  spend  in  Butte,  live  in  that 
house,  and  make  things  hum.  However,  I  guess  you're 
right.  I'll  bet  on  Greg.  Here  come  the  letters.  Hope 
you  get  one  from  Mark  as  I'd  like  some  real  news." 

A  page  with  letters  in  his  hand  had  entered  the  room 
He  served  the  young  American  ladies  first  as  their  tips 
were  frequent  and  munificent,  particularly  Ora's.  The 
other  people  in  the  room  were  English  and  Italian. 

Ida's  letters  were  from  Ruby  and  Pearl.  Ora's  from 
Mark,  Professor  Becke,  and  two  of  her  English  friends. 

174 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     175 

She  opened  her  husband's  first.  It  contained  an  account 
of  the  threatened  loss  of  her  mine,  her  narrow  escape,  and 
Gregory's  rescue.  It  was  graphically  written.  Mark 
fancied  himself  as  a  letter  writer  and  never  was  averse 
from  impressing  his  clever  wife. 

Ora's  face  flushed  as  she  read;  she  lost  her  breath  once 
or  twice.  She  pictured  every  expression  of  Gregory's 
eyes  as  he  perforated  the  clerk;  her  heart  hammered  its 
admiration.  She  was  too  thoroughly  Montanan  and  the 
daughter  of  her  father  to  be  horrified  at  bribery  and  cor 
ruption.  For  the  moment  she  forgot  gratitude  in  her 
exultation  that  he  had  triumphed  over  the  mightiest  trust 
in  the  country.  But  before  she  finished  the  letter  she 
sighed  and  set  her  lips.  She  handed  it  deliberately  to 
Ida. 

' '  Here  is  an  account  of  the  first  development, '  she  said 
casually.  * '  It  will  interest  you. ' ' 

Ida  read  the  letter  hastily.  "Well,  they  caught  him 
napping  after  all,"  she  said  with  profound  dissatisfaction. 
"He  dreams  too  much,  that's  what.  He's  got  a  practical 
side  all  right,  but  he  isn't  on  the  job  all  the  time.  I'd 
like  to  write  and  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him  but  guess  I  'd 
better  keep  my  mouth  shut." 

"It  was  Mark's  fault  as  much  as  Mr.  Compton's — more. 
He  should  have  had  a  new  map  made  of  my  claim;  or,  if 
he  did  have  one  made,  he  should  have  studied  it  more  care 
fully.  Anybody  to  look  at  it  would  assume  that  it  touched 
the  boundary  line  of  your — Mr.  Compton's  ranch." 

"Well,  Greg '11  get  out  of  it  some  way.  When  he  does 
sit  up  and  take  notice  he  doesn't  so  much  as  wink,  and  so 
far  as  he  knew  or  cared  the  rest  of  the  world  might  have 
waltzed  off  into  space.  Lucky  it  hit  him  to  buy  the  house 
and  send  that  last  five  thousand  before  he  snapped  close 

on  Amalgamated " 

"What  does  Miss  Miller  have  to  say?" 
"Nothing   much   but    ecstasies    over   my   house.      The 
Murphys  had  taste,  it  seems,  so  I  won't  have  to  do  a  thing 
to  it.     Say,  Ora,  don't  you  feel  as  if  you'd  like  to  go 
back?" 

Ora  looked  up  and  her  face  turned  white.  "Go  back? 
I  thought  you  wanted  to  stay  over  here  for  a  year,  at  least. 
We  haven't  half  seen  Europe  yet—to  say  nothing  of 
Egypt." 


176     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Yes — I  know — but  sometimes  I  feel  homesick.  It  isn't 
only  that  I  want  to  make  Butte  sit  up ;  but — well,  I  sup 
pose  you'll  laugh,  but  I  miss  the  mountains.  I  never 
thought  much  about  them  when  I  was  there,  but  they've 
kind  of  haunted  me  lately." 

"There  are  mountains  in  Europe." 

"I  know,  but  they're  just  scenery.  Our  mountains  are 
different." 

Ora  looked  at  her  speculatively.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  Ida  had  surprised  her  with  glow-worms  flitting 
across  her  spiritual  night,  although  she  seemed  to  be  so 
devoid  of  imagination,  or  what  she  would  have  called  super 
fluous  nonsense,  as  to  inspire  her  more  highly  organised 
friend  with  envy.  Her  mental  and  artistic  development 
had  been  rapid  and  remarkable  but  uneven.  She  yawned 
through  the  opera  and  symphony  concerts.  She  would 
always  be  bored  by  pictures  unless  she  could  read  a 
"story"  in  them,  although  she  had  now  mastered  the 
jargon  of  art  as  well  as  most  of  her  quick-witted  country 
women.  In  Florence  and  Rome  she  had  "struck"  after 
one  morning  of  picture  galleries,  but  she  showed  a  spon 
taneous  and  curious  appreciation  of  the  architecture  of 
the  Renaissance.  Ora  had  expected  the  usual  ecstasies 
over  the  old  castles  of  England  and  Germany,  but  although 
Ida  admired  them  heartily,  and  even  declared  they  made 
her  feel  "real  romantic,"  it  was  for  the  Renaissance  pal 
aces  of  France  and  of  the  cities  they  visited  in  Italy  that 
she  reserved  her  instant  and  critical  admiration.  Ora, 
who  like  most  imaginative  people  played  with  the  theory 
of  reincarnation,  amused  herself  visioning  Ida  in  Burne- 
Jones  costumes,  haunting  the  chill  midnight  corridors  of 
a  Florentine  palace,  dagger  in  hand,  or  brewing  a  poisoned 
bowl.  If  Ida  possessed  a  rudimentary  soul,  which  suffered 
a  birth-pang  now  and  then,  Ora  had  caught  more  than  one 
glimpse  of  a  savage  temper  combined  with  a  cunning  that 
under  her  present  advantages  was  rapidly  developing  into 
subtlety.  But  Ida  indulged  too  little  in  introspection  to 
develop  her  inmost  ego  other  than  automatically.  To 
mental  progress  she  was  willing  to  devote  a  certain  amount 
of  labour.  Whenever  they  were  not  on  a  train  or  visiting 
at  country  houses,  she  spent  an  hour  every  morning  with 
a  teacher  of  either  French  or  Italian;  German  she  had 
refused  to  "tackle,"  but,  to  use  her  own  phrase,  she  "ate 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     177 

up"  the  Latin  languages,  and  her  diction  was  remarkably 
good.  If  picture  galleries  replete  with  saints,  vir 
gins,  madonnas  and  Venuses  bored  her,  she  returned  more 
than  once  to  the  portrait  rooms  in  the  Pitti  and  the 
Uffizi  galleries,  haunted  the  museums  with  their  mediaeval 
and  Renaissance  furniture  and  tapestries,  and  eagerly 
visited  every  palace  to  which  the  public  was  ad 
mitted. 

And  she  proved  herself  as  adaptable  as  Ora  had  hoped. 
In  England  she  bored  her  way  through  the  newspapers 
until  she  was  able  to  sustain  her  part  in  political  conver 
sation.  She  soon  discerned  that  English  people  of  assured 
position  and  wide  social  experience  liked  a  certain  degree 
of  picturesque  Americanism  when  it  was  unaccompanied 
by  garrulity  or  blatant  ill-breeding.  She  amused  herself 
by  "giving  them  what  they  wanted,"  and  was  a  more 
pronounced  success  than  Ora,  who  was  outwardly  too 
much  like  themselves,  yet  lacking  the  matchless  fortune  of 
English  birth.  But  this  did  not  disturb  Ora,  who  made 
more  real  friends,  and  derived  endless  amusement  observ 
ing  Ida.  On  one  occasion  they  visited  for  a  week  at  one 
of  the  country  homes  of  a  duke  and  duchess  that  had  en 
tertained  Mrs.  Stratton  many  years  ago,  and  Ida  had  en 
chanted  these  bored  but  liberal  products  of  a  nation  that 
led  with  too  much  indifference  the  Grand  March  of  Civili 
sation  with  her  Western  ' '  breeziness "  and  terminology 
(carefully  selected),  combined  with  her  severely  cut  and 
altogether  admirable  gowns,  and  her  fine  imposing  carriage. 
From  this  castle  she  went  on  with  Ora  to  one  leased  by 
an  ambitious  American  more  English  than  the  English, 
who  permitted  herself  to  indulge  in  a  very  little  fashion 
able  slang,  but  had  consigned  the  American  vernacular  to 
oblivion  in  the  grave  of  her  ancestors.  Here  Ida  was 
languid  and  correct  (save  at  the  midnight  hour  when  she 
sought  Ora,  not  only  for  relaxation  but  the  instructions 
she  was  never  too  proud  to  receive)  ;  her  English  slang 
(which  she  had  "swapped"  for  much  of  her  own  with  her 
various  British  admirers)  was  impeccable,  and  she  flirted 
like  a  stage  duchess. 

She  estimated  the  various  aristocracies  she  entered  under 
Ora's  wing  as  a  grand  moving  picture  show  run  for  the 
benefit  of  Americans,  and  was  grateful  to  have  an  inside 
seat,  although  nothing  would  have  bored  her  more  than 


178     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

to  take  a  permanent  position  in  their  midst.  With  their 
history,  traditions,  psychology,  she  concerned  herself  not 
at  all ;  nor  did  she  in  any  way  manifest  a  desire  to  cultivate 
the  intellectual  parts  of  her  shrewd,  observing,  clutching 
brain.  She  threw  away  as  many  opportunities  as  she  de 
voured,  but  on  the  whole  proved  herself  somewhat  more 
adaptable  than  the  usual  American  woman  elevated  sud 
denly  from  the  humbler  walks  of  life  to  the  raking  search 
lights  of  Society.  In  Berlin  and  Vienna  she  repeated  her 
social  triumphs,  for,  although  Americans  do  not  penetrate 
far  below  the  crust  of  Continental  society,  smart  men 
abound  in  the  crust ;  Ida  graduated  as  an  adept  in  flirtation 
with  agreeable  and  subtle  men  of  the  world,  yet  keeping 
the  most  practical  at  arm's  length  with  a  carefully  calcu 
lated  Western  directness  and  artlessness  that  amounted  to 
genius. 

In  France  and  Italy  the  dazzling  fairness  of  Ora  had 
its  innings.  A  vague  suggestion  of  unreality,  almost  mor 
bid,  and  a  very  definite  one  of  unawakened  womanhood, 
combined  with  a  cultivated  mind,  ready  wit,  and  air  of  high 
breeding,  gave  her  a  success  as  genuine  as  Ida's  and  some 
what  more  perilous.  But  she  soon  learned  to  tread  warily, 
after  her  theories  of  European  men  had. been  vindicated  by 
personal  experience.  In  fact,  after  the  two  girls  had  ceased 
to  be  mere  tourists  they  had  taken  the  advice  of  one  of  Mrs. 
Stratton's  friends  and  enlisted  the  services  of  an  indigent 
lady  of  title  as  chaperon.  Lady  Gower  had  been  little 
more  than  a  figurehead  but  had  served  her  purpose  in 
averting  gossip;  and  now  that  her  charges  were  tourists 
again  had  returned  to  her  lodgings  in  Belgravia.  As  maids 
also  are  a  doubtful  luxury  when  travelling  they  had  re 
cently  dismissed  the  last  of  a  long  line. 

On  the  whole  the  two  girls  had  got  on  together  amaz 
ingly  well.  They  had  had  their  differences  of  opinion,  but 
Ora  was  too  proud  to  quarrel,  Ida  too  easy-going  and 
appreciative  of  the  butter  on  her  bread.  It  was  fortunate, 
however,  that  Gregory  had  been  able  to  provide  his  wife 
with  an  abundance  of  money,  for  she  was  far  too  shrewd, 
and  far  too  interested  in  prices,  to  remain  hoodwinked  for 
long.  After  three  months  of  sight-seeing  and  pensions 
both  had  been  glad  to  leave  the  tourist  class  and  mingle  in 
the  more  spectacular  life  of  the  great  world,  and  that  had 
meant  trousseaux  in  Paris.  There  Ida  had  "gowned" 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     179 

herself  for  the  first  time,  and  her  delight  in  her  fashionable 
wardrobe  had  been  equalled  only  by  her  satisfaction 
in  driving  a  bargain.  At  present  they  were  resting  in 
Genoa,  a  favourite  city  of  Ora's,  after  a  hard  ten  weeks 
in  Rome. 


XXXI 

finished  their  letters  and  went  up  to  their  rooms 
to  rest,  for  they  had  "done"  several  churches  and 
the  Campo  Santo  during  the  morning. 

u Thank  the  lord,"  said  Ida,  as  they  walked  up  the 
stairs  after  waiting  ten  minutes  for  the  lift,  "there  are  no 
picture  galleries  in  this  town  that  one  must  see.  The  rest 
of  the  programme  is  streets  and  architecture,  which  is 
worth  while.  These  internal  streets  make  me  feel  as  if  I 
were  going  right  through  to  China,  or  whatever  is  under 
neath  Italy.  Genoa,  before  it  had  any  houses  on  it,  must 
have  looked  like  Last  Chance  Gulch,  Helena,  Montana." 

They  had  reached  their  connecting  rooms.  Ida  extended 
herself  on  a  sofa,  Ora  made  herself  as  comfortable  as  pos 
sible  in  a  chair  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"Say,  kid,"  pursued  Ida,  "you  smoke  too  much.  Fol 
low  my  illustrious  example.  I  go  just  so  far  and  no 
farther — one  cigarette  after  each  meal  because  it  makes 
me  feel  nice  and  aristocratic.  You're  the  kind  that  lets  a 
habit  run  away  with  you.  I  deliberate.  You  drift.  See?" 

Ora  laughed.  "Funny  thing,  nature!  Anyone  would 
say  quite  the  opposite  of  each  of  us. ' ' 

"It's  like  life.  Not  a  blooming  thing  is  just  what  you 
figure  it  out  beforehand.  Here  I  wanted  the  Collins  house 
and  I've  got  the  Murphy.  And  Greg,  that  I  figured  on 
being  a  millionaire  by  the  time  I  got  back,  has  gone  and 
tied  himself  up  in  litigation,  or  is  heading  that  way." 

"You  ungrateful  wretch !  You  came  to  Europe  'figuring' 
on  making  a  thousand  dollars  serve  for  the  entire  trip  and 
you  already  have  had  eleven  thousand.  Most  rules  work 
both  ways.  But  you  don't  really  want  to  go  back?" 

"I  do.  It's  been  growing  for  some  time  and  now  it's 
ingrowing.  You  can  get  enough  of  anything  and  I  Ve  had 
enough  of  Europe.  Besides,  I'd  like  to  get  back  to  a 
country  where  lifts  are  elevators  and  don't  go  to  sleep  a 
few  times  on  the  way  up;  where  it  doesn't  take  an  hour 

180 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     181 

to  draw  a  bath,  which  it  does  wherever  it's  pronounced 
bath;  where  you  can  drink  plain  water,  and  don't  have 
cheese  or  garlic  or  grease  in  all  your  food ;  where  you  are 
never  taken  for  what  you  ain't;  where  you  are  never 
cheated  and  overcharged  because  you're  an  American; 
where  you  don't  have  to  see  a  sight  a  minute;  where  you 
don't  have  to  talk  up  to  people  who  don't  give  a  hang 
about  anything  that  interests  you;  where  you  are  not 
looked  upon  as  a  rank  outsider  by  ancient  aristocrats  and 
concierges,  no  matter  how  polite  they  try  to  be ;  and  where 
the  word  democracy  means  what  it  is.  Over  here  every 
socialist — I'll  bet  every  anarchist — would  give  his  front 
teeth  to  be  a  king,  a  duke,  or  even  a  rich  bourgeois.  That 's 
what's  the  matter  with  all  of  them.  Give  me  America, 
above  all,  old  Montana.  A  little  money  and  a  lot  of  'go' 
are  all  you  need  out  there." 

"Oh,  Ida!  Ida!  will  you  never  appreciate  the  glory  of 
Europe?  Is  that  all  you  have  got  out  of  it?" 

"I've  squeezed  it  dry,  all  right,  and  I'll  take  back  a  lot 
more  than  I  figured  on.  Watch  me  when  I'm  swelling 
round  Butte,  imitating  the  chaste  simplicity  of  a  British 
duchess — minus  the  duds  they  generally  sport.  There's 
nothing  like  Europe  to  teach  you  what's  what — especially 
the  way  we've  seen  it — put  you  wise  in  ten  thousand  dif 
ferent  ways,  and  fill  your  mind  with  pretty  pictures — that 
ain't  in  galleries.  But  after  all  it's  just  a  course  in  the 
higher  education,  and  you're  outside  of  it  all,  every  minute. 
To  live  you  've  got  to  go  back  to  your  own  country. ' ' 

"That's  true  enough!" 

"Could  you  marry  a  European  and  live  over  here  for 
the  rest  of  your  life  and  never  see  those  mountains  again 
that  just  seem  to  belong  to  you — or  even  screaming  old 
Butte?" 

"No!"  Ora  spoke  with  uncommon  vehemence.  "I 
couldn't!" 

Ida  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  looked  at  her  friend 
shrewdly.  "I  can't  see  that  you've  enjoyed  yourself  so 
much  over  here.  It  seems  to  me  that  you've  got  your  fun 
out  of  showing  me  round.  You  had  more  real  gaiety  in 
you  in  Butte.  You  may  not  know  it  but  you  look  pretty 
sad  sometimes." 

"Life  is  sad — mighty  sad." 

"Is  it?    That's  a  new  one  for  me.    I  think  it  a  pretty 


182     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

fine  old  proposition.     What  went  wrong  with  you — early 
in  the  game?" 

"Nothing.  Travel  is  tiring.  I'm  not  as  strong  as  you 
are." 

"You're  as  tough  as  a  pine  knot,  for  all  you  look  like  a 
lily  expecting  to  be  decapitated  by  the  first  wind.  Well, 
you  won't  tell  if  you  won't,  but  I'll  tell  you  what  you  need. 
You've  never  been  in  love  and  that's  a  sort  of  ache  in 
women  until  they've  taken  a  good  dose  of  the  only  medi 
cine.  I  rather  hoped  you  'd  met  your  fate  in  the  Marchese 
Valdobia.  He's  the  sort  you  once  told  me  was  your  type, 
and  you  seemed  to  like  him  pretty  well  for  about  five 
weeks  in  Kome.  The  lord  knows  he  was  tall  enough,  and 
dark  enough,  and  thin  enough,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  a 
beastly  temper  besides.  Then  you  turned  him  down  good 
and  hard.  I  was  sorry " 

"My  dear  Ida!  Are  you  regretting  that  I  did  not 
have  a  liaison  with  Valdobia?  I  remember  your  virtuous 
sentiments  in  Butte.  Perhaps  it  is  time  for  us  to  return ! " 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right.  But  I'm  that  advanced  I  wouldn't 
mind  you  having  an  affair  the  least  bit  if  it  would  make 
you  happy ' 

"Happy!  What  happiness  do  you  imagine  there  can 
be  when  you  are  absolutely  at  the  mercy  of  a  man  ? — when 
you  never  know  whether  you  will  see  him  again  or  not  ? — 
a  woman  has  no  real  hold  on  a  lover.  Matrimony  with 
the  man  you  love  may  have  its  agonies,  but  at  least  you 
live  with  him,  you  make  his  home;  his  interests  are  yours, 
he  is  dependent  upon  you  for  comfort  and  sympathy; 
there  are  a  thousand  ways  in  which  you  can  endear  and 
enchain  him.  But  a  lover,  whom  you  meet  in  secret  for 
one  purpose  only,  who  can  give  you  no  real  companionship 
—oh,  no!  I  shall  not  court  that  particular  form  of  suffer 
ing.  Life  is  hard  enough  without  that !  I  've  known  women 
with  lovers  and  so  have  you." 

"I  don't  say  it  would  last  forever;  nothing  does,  for 
that  matter.  But  at  least  you  would  live  for  a  little  while 
— come  down  off  the  unearthly  plane  you  roost  on  now. 
Whatever  you  went  through,  it  would  leave  you  all-round 
developed  and  philosophical — in  a  frame  of  mind  to  see 
and  accept  life  as  it  is.  You  need  hardening.  I  was  born 
hard.  You're  as  soft  as  mush,  for  all  you  look  like  those 
marble  bores  in  the  Vatican,  and  as  romantic  as  if  you'd 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     183 

spent  all  your  life  in  a  castle  in  a  wood  with  the  draw 
bridge  up.     I  believe  you  even  keep  a  diary " 

"  Diary "    Ora  sat  up  straight. 

"I've  seen  and  heard  you  writing  by  the  yard,  late  at 
night,  mostly.  It  wasn't  letters,  because  we  always  get 
those  off  our  chest  just  after  breakfast — fine  system.  Un 
less  you're  a  budding  author " 

"They  were  letters!"  Ora,  who  was  strung  up  to  a 
high  pitch  and  merely  smoking  for  relief,  felt  a  defiant 
impulse  to  indulge  in  the  impudence  of  confession.  "I've 
written  yards  and  yards  of  letters  to  a  man " 

"What?    And  you  don't  send  them  off!" 

"I  don't  know  him." 

"Good  lord,  what  next?    An  ideal,  I  suppose." 

"Yes— that's  it." 

"Do  you  mean  you  never  saw  him — anyone  to  suggest 
him — it?  What  gender  has  an  ideal,  anyhow?" 

"I  saw  him — talked  with  him,  once.  I  said  I  didn't 
know  him. ' ' 

"And  you're  in  love  with  him!" 

"Not  in  the  least.  He  simply  jolted  my  imagination, 
gave  me  the  idea  of  what  might  be — have  been.  I — it  is 
hard  to  express — I  feel  in  a  sort  of  mental — spiritual?— 
affinity  with  him.  When  I  write  I  have  a  queer  sense  of 
absolute  communion — as  if  we  were  talking — I  suppose  it 
is  because  I  know  he  would  understand  if  I  could  send 
the  letters " 

"And  you've  never  sent  one?" 

"Of  course  not.  It  is — well,  just  a  little  private  one 
sided  drama  I'm  living;  a  sort  of  book  of  which  I  am 
the  heroine.  While  I  write  I  am  alive.  The  rest  of  the 
time  I  wonder  what  I  was  put  on  this  earth  at  all  for." 

"Look  at  here,  Ora,  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  send 
for  old  Gower  and  go  back  to  Kome.  You'll  be  having 
nerves  first  thing  you  know.  No,  we'd  cut  out  the  annex. 
I  'm  dead  sick  of  her,  and  everybody  knows  we  're  all  right ; 
in  Eome  they  don't  care,  anyhow.  You  could  have  a  real 
romance.  We'd  take  one  of  those  old  palaces,  haunted, 
moth-eaten,  with  one  of  those  antique  porters  that  looks 
as  if  he'd  let  out  midnight  lovers  ten  centuries  ago,  and 
beds  that  twenty  centuries  have  died  in.  That  would  just 
suit  you.  I'd  enjoy  a  second-hand  romance  first-rate,  and 
be  the  trusted  friend," 


184     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Ida,  you  are  incorrigible!  Even  if  I  cared  a  penny 
about  Valdobia  do  you  suppose  I  would  betray  my  hus 
band?" 

"Rats!  Don't  you  suppose  Mark  has  a  girl  down  on 
The  Flat?  Greg  has,  I'll  bet— well,  don't  look  as  if  you 
were  going  to  faint.  "What's  the  use  of  being  a  dog  in 
the  manger?  Mark '11  be  the  same  old  devoted  when  you 
get  back." 

"Oh,  do  keep  quiet!  And  I  wish  I  might  never  see 
Butte  again.  I  think  I'll  write  to  Mark  and  ask  him  to 
move  to  New  York.  He  now  has  plenty  of  money  to  wait, 
and  it  wouldn't  take  him  long  to  establish  himself  any 
where " 

"I  thought  you  loved  Montana— wanted  to  do  something 
big  for  her " 

"We've  been  away  a  long  time.  I  fancy  I'm  weaned. 
It  is  only  once  in  a  while  that  I  feel  a  pull— merely  be 
cause  I  was  born  there." 

"Well,  Mark  won't  leave,  believe  me.  He's  Western 
from  the  cut  of  his  back  hair  to  his  love  of  the  free-and- 
easy.  No  New  York  for  him  except  the  all-night  two  or 
three  times  a  year.  Butte 's  your  fate  unless  you  leave 
him." 

"I'll  never  do  that,  but  I'd  like  to  stay  over  here  for 
another  year  or  two.  Remember,  I  was  brought  up  in 
Europe — and — and — I  might  meet  the  man — If  you  want 
to  know  I've  tried.  I'd  never  go  as  far  as  you  suggest, 
but  1^  could  get  something — companionship,  perhaps,  out 

"When  you  meet  the  man  you'll  forget  all  you  ever 
knew,  and  men  don't  companion  for  a  cent  when  there's 
nothing  in  it.  I  haven't  been  turning  them  inside  out 
these  last  six  months  for  nothing;  what  I  don't  know 
about  men  wouldn't  fill  a  thimble.  Why  don't  you  round 
up  your  letter  man  ? ' ' 

"That  is  for  ever  impossible." 

"Do  give  me  a  hint  who  he  is.  I'm  half  dead  with 
curiosity.  Where 'd  you  meet  him?" 

"Keep  quiet.    I'm  going  to  take  a  nap." 

"Well,"  said  Ida,  yawning  and  stretching  herself,  "so 
am  I,  if  you've  closed  up.  When  we  get  back  to  Butte 
and  there's  no  more  sight-seeing  on,  we'll  have  to  cut  out 
these  siestas  or  we'll  get  fat,  and  then  good-bye." 


XXXII 

HEY  went  out  at  half  past  five  and  joined  the  dense 
sauntering  throng  under  the  arcade  of  the  Via  Venti 
Settembre.  All  Genoa  turns  out  at  this  hour  with  appar 
ently  no  object  but  to  amble  and  stare.  The  two  girls,  par 
ticularly  Ora,  who  appeared  to  be  the  only  blonde  in  the 
city,  were  almost  mobbed.  Every  other  man  spoke  to 
them,  or  rolled  his  eyes  and  twirled  his  moustache.  But 
they  preserved  a  lofty  and  blank  demeanour,  and  were 
practically  unmolested.  The  Genoese  works  almost  as  hard 
as  the  American  during  a  few  hours  of  the  day  and  haunts 
the  afternoon  throngs  only  to  amuse  himself  indolently. 
If  one  woman  ignores  him  he  passes  on  philosophically  to 
the  next. 

"Lord,  but  I'd  like  to  get  a  move  on!"  exclaimed  Ida. 
"Why  don't  they  walk?  Is  this  what  they  call  exercise? 
And  I  wouldn't  mind  their  ogling  and  speaking  if  they 
only  wouldn't  pinch.  I'll  give  this  side  a  rest,  any 
how."  And  she  dexterously  changed  places  and  drew 
Ora's  other  arm  through  her  own. 

"I  love  them,  pinches  and  all,"  said  Ora,  warmly. 
"They  are  like  children  in  one  way,  and  yet  they  really 
know  how  to  rest  and  enjoy  themselves,  which  is  more 
than  our  men  ever  do.  Even  the  working-class  enjoys 
life  over  here.  I  wonder  why  they  emigrate?" 

They  had.  passed  round  the  corner  of  the  arcade  and 
entered  the  Piazza  Defarrari,  working  their  way  toward 
the  Via  Roma.  Ora  stopped  before  one  of  the  cantinas 
behind  the  statue  of  Garibaldi.  '  *  Look  at  those  men  drink 
ing  their  cheap  wine  and  gossipping.  They  look  as  if  they 
hadn't  a  care  in  the  world." 

"Give  me  the  hustling  American,"  said  Ida  contemptu 
ously.  "I  don't  call  this  life.  They're  just  drifting  along 
waiting  for  the  Angel  Gabriel  to  blow  his  trump.  What 
makes  them  so  lazy  and  contented?  They  know  they  can 

185 


186     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

go  just  so  far  over  here  and  no  farther.  Ancient  history 
made  classes  and  masses,  and  while  they  have  fun,  some 
of  them,  thinking  they're  socialists,  they  know  that  most 
of  them  will  stay  put.  But  the  only  real  fun  in  life  is 
getting  ahead  of  the  next  fellow  and  knowing  that  your 
chance  is  as  good  as  any." 

"What  a  truly  American  sentiment !" 

"I'm  American,  all  right,  and  that's  the  reason  I  want 
to  get  back  to  Butte,  where  things  hum  every  minute,  and 
there's  no  real  poverty.  Fancy  calling  these  left-overs 
' middle-class'  like  our  miners.  Every  one  of  those  looks 
forward  to  being  President  of  Amalgamated  one  of  these 
days,  or  striking  it  rich  in  the  mountains.7' 

11  There  are  different  varieties  of  happiness,  fortunately 
for  several  billions  that  are  seeking  it. ' ' 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Ida,  abruptly,  as  they  turned  into 
the  Galleria  Mazzini  from  the  Via  Eoma,  "it's  queer,  but 
I  feel  more  at  home  in  Italy  than  I  have  anywhere  else 
over  here,  although  I  had  a  really  better  time  in  England 
and  Germany  and  Austria.  I  don't  hit  it  off  much  with 
Italians,  but — well — I  have  a  more  settled-down  feeling." 

"That's  odd!" 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  romancing  about  you  a  bit,  fancying 
you  a  reincarnation  of  one  of  those  fascinating  abominable 
women  of  the  Renaissance,  who  had  innumerable  lovers 
and  poisoned  their  husbands,  or  rivals.  You  would  look 
quite  wonderful  in  those  long  velvet  or  brocaded  gowns, 
with  sleeves  that  come  down  over  the  hands,  and  pearls 
twined  in  your  hair." 

''That's  not  a  bad  idea.  Maybe  I  was,  although  I  don't 
see  myself  with  lovers  or  thinking  anybody  worth  swinging 
for.  Several  American  reincarnations  must  have  changed 
my  habits ;  but  I  don 't  mind  looking  the  part.  Good  idea 
—when  we  get  back  to  Paris  I'll  have  several  of  those 
Renaissance  costumes  made.  They  won't  go  out  of  style, 
either.  Greg  can  fork  over  the  pearls  later." 

"You'll  be  a  picture.  I  wish  I  had  thought  of  it  before. 
Don't  you  think  you  are  capable  of  jealousy?" 

"Nixie.  To  be  jealous  you've  got  to  have  a  fearful 
crush ;  and  thank  the  lord  I  don't  love  anybody  but  myself 
and  never  shall." 

"That  is  often  the  secret  of  love  for  some  man — of  most 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     187 

men's  love  for  a  woman,  I  imagine!  Perhaps  it  creates 
the  most  powerful  delusion  of  all." 

"Well,  none  of  it  in  mine.  Me  for  the  great  society  act. 
I'm  going  to  be  the  grandest  dame  in  Montana,  and  when 
I  Ve  wrung  that  dry  1 11  move  on  to  New  York.  Greg  says 
he  won't,  means  to  live  and  die  in  Montana,  but  I  guess 
he'll  manage  to  stand  it  if  I  desert  him  occasionally.  If 
he's  got  a  hill  full  of  copper  he  won't  know  whether  I'm 
in  Butte  or  the  Waldorf-Astoria.  You  look  better,  Ora; 
you  ought  to  stay  out  of  doors  more  and  watch  these  funny 
old  crowds.  You've  got  a  nice  colour,  and  smile  as  if  you 
meant  it — Oh !  that 's  it,  is  it  ?  Well,  thank  goodness,  I  've 
got  a  front  seat " 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Pretending  you  haven't  seen  him?    I  like  that!" 

Ida  felt  the  arm  within  her  own  stiffen.  "Valdobia! 
Don't  leave  me  for  a  moment." 

"I  won't,  although,  believe  me,  the  role  of  gooseberry 
is  no  cinch." 

"I've  played  it  for  you  often  enough." 

"You  have,  and  I'm  a  dead  game  sport.  Lord!  he  looks 
more  bad-tempered  than  ever.  Probably  every  meal  he's 
eaten  since-  you  left  has  disagreed  with  him,  including 
macaroni." 

"He's  not  bad-tempered.  Hot-tempered,  no  doubt,  but 
I'm  sure  he's  kind  and  quite  amiable.  He's  rather  grim, 
and  of  course  he's  lived  pretty  hard  and  is  disillusioned. 
That  is  all." 

"That's  right,  stand  up  for  him.  Bad  sign — or  a  good 
one!  He's  seen  us!" 

Valdobia's  eyes  flashed  recognition,  although  he  lifted 
his  hat  with  unsmiling  lips,  and  made  no  effort  to  push  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  Ora  favoured  him  with  a  glance 
of  chill  indifference  as  she  returned  his  salutation,  but  she 
noticed  that  he  made  the  young  Genoese  patricians  look 
provincial.  He  not  only  was  tall  and  gracefully  built,  his 
carriage  military,  but  he  had  the  air  of  repose  and 
distinction,  as  well  as  the  keen,  tolerant,  detached  glance, 
of  the  man  who  has  spent  his  life  in  the  great  world,  and, 
on  the  whole,  subordinated  his  weaknesses  to  his  brain.  It 
was  evident  that  he  was  dressed  from  Conduit  Street,  and 
at  first  glance,  in  spite  of  his  dark  colouring  and  fine 
Eoman  features,  his  nationality  was  not  obtrusive;  he 


188     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

looked  the  cosmopolitan,  the  man-of-the-world,  who  might 
have  made  his  headquarters  in  any  one  of  her  great  capi 
tals.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  while  in  the  diplomatic  service 
he  had  lived  in  several,  including  a  short  sojourn  in  Wash 
ington;  hut  after  coming  into  a  large  inheritance  through 
the  death  of  his  father  and  of  an  energetic  uncle  who  had 
boldly  gone  into  business  and  prospered,  he  had  travelled 
for  a  year  in  Africa  and  India  and  then  settled  in  Eome. 

If  he  was  too  indifferent  or  too  wise  to  hurry  he  man 
aged  to  make  his  way  consistently  toward  them,  although 
a  crowd  had  formed  about  a  bulletin  board  to  read  the 
latest  news  from  the  seat  of  war.  He  stood  opposite  them 
in  three  or  four  minutes  and  shook  hands  politely  with 
both. 

''At  last!"  he  said.  "I  called  at  the  Bristol,  and  have 
been  looking  for  you  ever  since. "  He  had  a  warm  deep 
voice  but  his  tones  and  manner  expressed  less  than  his 
words. 

"You  don't  have  to  look  far  in  Genoa,"  said  Ida,  giving 
him  a  cordial  smile  and  handshake  to  cover  Ora's  chilling 
welcome.  "If  the  whole  town  turns  out  for  what  it  calls 
exercise,  each  quarter  seems  to  keep  to  itself.  "We  see  the 
same  faces  every  day. ' ' 

Valdobia  fell  into  step  beside  Ida,  who  at  once  began 
to  chatter  questions  about  their  common  acquaintance  in 
Rome.  She  grinned  mentally  as  she  rattled  off  titles,  re 
calling  the  wiry  little  figure  of  her  mother  at  the  wash- 
tub,  and  her  father  with  his  "muck "-spattered  overalls 
and  blue  dinner  pail;  but  Valdobia,  too  accustomed  to 
titles  to  note  whether  Americans  were  lavish  in  their  use 
or  not,  replied  naturally  and  refrained  from  glancing  at 
the  woman  who  had  given  his  self-centred  ego  the  pro- 
foundest  shock  it  had  ever  received.  He  was  now  thirty- 
eight.  In  his  early  manhood  he  had  loved  with  the  facility 
and  brevity  of  his  race.  Then  for  six  years,  after  his 
return  to  Rome,  he  had  been  the  lover  of  a  brilliant  and 
subtle  woman  ten  years  older  than  himself,  who,  for  a 
short  time,  inspired  in  him  the  belief  that  at  last  he  had 
entered  the  equatorial  region  of  the  grande  passion.  This 
passed  off,  and  she  became  a  habit,  which  lasted  until,  with 
the  decline  of  her  beauty,  she  lost  much  of  her  finesse,  as 
weir  as  her  control  over  both  temper  and  complexion.  It 
had  taken  him  a  year  or  more  to  regain  his  liberty,  and 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     189 

when  he  did,  after  scenes  that  he  fain  would  dismiss  from 
his  memory,  he  determined  to  keep  it.  His  long  experience 
with  a  woman  of  many  characteristics  and  one  or  two 
noble  qualities,  before  she  gossipped  and  inflamed  them  to 
death,  had  thoroughly  disillusioned  him,  and  since  his 
release  his  gallantries  had  been  lighter  than  in  his  youth. 
When  he  first  met  Ora  Blake  he  was  attracted  merely  by 
her  cold  fairness,  redeemed  from  classic  severity  by  her 
brilliant  seeing  eyes,  which  so  often  sparkled  with  humour, 
and  amused  at  her  naive  and  girlish  attitude  of  happiness 
in  temporary  freedom ;  so  successfully  practised  by  herself 
and  Ida.  He  had  supposed  her  to  be  little  more  than 
twenty,  and  had  wondered  if  her  husband  were  even 
busier  than  the  average  American,  to  let  her  run  away  so 
soon.  When  she  told  him  she  was  twenty-seven,  and  had 
been  married  seven  years,  he  found  himself  speculating  on 
the  temperament  of  a  woman  whom  time  and  life  had  left 
untouched.  Shortly  after,  he  received  a  biographical 
sketch  of  her  from  Mrs.  O'Neil,  also  of  Butte,  who  was 
wintering  in  Kome  and  entertaining  such  of  the  aristocracy 
as  she  met  at  her  Embassy.  It  was  some  time  since  his 
thoughts  had  dwelt  upon  any  woman  when  alone,  and  when 
he  found  himself  sitting  by  his  window  in  the  evening 
dreaming  over  his  cigar  instead  of  amusing  himself  in  the 
varied  life  of  Rome  after  his  habit,  he  was  at  first  amused, 
then  angry,  finally  apprehensive.  He  had  no  desire  for 
another  period  of  torment,  followed  by  the  successive 
stages  that  finished  in  impatience  and  satiety. 

He  tried  flirting  with  her,  making  her  talk  about  her 
self,  focussing  her  mind  on  the  years  she  seemed  deter 
mined  to  ignore,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  that  she  was 
commonplace.  But  Ora,  who  found  him  more  interesting 
than  any  man  she  had  met  in  Europe,  also  a  conquest  to 
be  proud  of,  continued  to  make  herself  interesting — and 
elusive — with  a  skill  and  subtlety  that  go  closely  resembled 
the  frank  ingenuousness  of  the  West,  that  the  man  ac 
customed  to  the  patented  finesse  of  European  women  ex 
perienced  the  agreeable  sensation  of  renewing  his  youth. 
He  felt  himself  falling  in  love  like  a  schoolboy,  and  medi 
tated  flight.  He  remained  in  Rome,  however,  and  made 
a  deliberate  attempt  to  fascinate  her.  Then  one  day 
when  Ida  was  pouring  tea  at  the  Embassy,  chaperoned 
by  Lady  Gower,  he  found  Ora  alone,  indisposed  after  a 


190     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

sleepless  night,  and  lost  his  head.  Ora,  who  was  in  no 
mood  to  let  him  down  gently  and  reserve  him  for  conver 
sational  pleasures,  dismissed  him  abruptly,  and  had  not 
seen  him  since.  She  had  regretted  her  impatience,  for  he 
was  always  worth  talking  to,  her  feminine  liking  for  his 
type  was  very  strong,  and  she  had  amused  herself  fancy 
ing  that  if  she  had  not  permitted  another  man  to  rule  her 
imagination  she  might  have  found  her  fate  in  this 
one.  But  as  he  had  presumed  to  follow  her  when  she 
had  banished  him  summarily,  she  greeted  him  with 
cool  civility  and  resumed  her  study  of  the  kaleidoscopic 
crowd. 

Suddenly  she  moved  her  head  in  a  fashion  that  sug 
gested  the  lifting  of  one  of  the  little  ears  that  lay  so  close 
to  her  head  and  were  not  the  least  of  her  points.  The  ear 
was  on  the  side  next  to  her  companion  in  arms.  Could  it 
be  that  Ida  was  flirting  with  Valdobia?  Mrs.  Compton's 
manner  and  speech  were  as  correct  as  her  smartly  tailored 
suit  and  hat  of  black  velvet  and  the  calm  pride  of  her 
bearing,  but  she  was  talking  with  sweet  earnestness  to 
the  Eoman  about  himself  and  expressing  her  plaintive 
gratitude  that  he  had  cared  to  follow  them  to  Genoa,  where 
she  at  least  was  very  lonely.  It  had  not  been  possible  for 
Ora  to  see  the  flash  of  understanding  these  two  had  ex 
changed  after  Valdobia 's  first  puzzled  glance,  but  she  did 
see  many  heads  turn  to  look  at  the  handsome  and  well- 
matched  couple.  Even  the  Italian  women  did  not  smile 
ironically  as  they  so  often  did  at  the  too  obvious  American 
tourist.  Ida  not  only  had  delivered  herself  of  every  ex 
terior  trace  of  commonness,  but  would  no  more  have  ap 
peared  on  the  street  looking  the  mere  tourist  than  she 
could  be  betrayed  into  adopting  the  extreme  of  any  new 
style  by  the  persuasive  Parisian.  She  saw  Ora's  head 
come  round  her  shoulder,  and  her  voice  deepened  to  the 
soft  husky  tones  she  reserved  for  decisive  moments  witH 
her  agitated  admirers,  then  dropped  so  low  that  only  the 
man,  with  his  head  bent,  could  hear  the  words.  At  this 
stage  of  the  flirtation 's  progress  Ora  noted  that  the  approv 
ing  glances  of  the  sympathetic  Italians  were  accompanied 
by  significant  smiles. 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  long  Galleria  for  the 
second  time  and  turned.  The  crowd  was  thin.  The  res 
taurants  were  filling.  Shutters  were  rattling  down  over 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     191 

the  windows  of  the  tempting  shops.     Said  Ora  abruptly, 

' '  I  think  I  'd  like  to  dine  in  one  of  these  cafes — the  Mil- 
ano.  The  Bristol  dining-room  is  a  little  Ritz,  and  it's  a 
bore  to  dress. ' ' 

Valdobia  leaned  forward  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "I 
should  like  nothing  better,  but  you  must  dine  with  me." 

' '  Why  not  ?    What  do  you  say,  Ida  ? " 

"I'd  love  it.  The  food  is  good  and  the  crowd  more 
interesting. ' ' 

They  entered  the  bright  cafe  and  seated  themselves  at 
one  of  the  side  tables,  the  two  girls  on  the  bench  against 
the  wall,  Valdobia  in  the  chair  opposite.  A  number  of 
the  tables  were  already  occupied,  several  by  stout  com 
fortable  couples,  but  the  majority  by  men  with  their  hats 
on,  playing  dominoes  or  reading  the  evening  papers.  Op 
posite  the  door  was  a  long  table  set  forth  with  the  delicacies 
of  the  season:  raw  meat,  winter  vegetables,  oranges,  and 
kicking  lobsters. 

Valdobia,  assiduously  waited  upon  by  the  proprietor 
himself  (whose  wife,  surrounded  by  several  of  her  children, 
smiled  benignantly  from  the  cashier's  desk),  ordered  a 
special  dinner;  a  light  soup  (the  table  d'hote  soup  was  a 
meal  in  itself) ,  spaghetti,  inimitably  cooked  veal  in  brown 
butter,  salad,  freshly  caught  fish,  ices,  and  a  bottle  of  the 
host's  most  precious  Chianti. 

"I  never  could  have  pictured  you  in  a  Bohemian  res 
taurant,"  said  Ora,  smiling  brilliantly  into  the  face  of 
her  host.  "Have  you  ever  been  in  a  place  like  this  be 
fore?" 

"About  as  often  as  I  have  weeks  to  my  credit."  He 
looked  steadily  into  her  snapping  eyes.  ' '  You  have  studied 
Italians  to  little  purpose  if  you've  not  discovered  their 
partiality  for  their  native  cooking.  These  plain  little 
cafes  are  the  last  strongholds  in  our  large  cities.  Even 
the  restaurants  where  the  business  men  go  for  luncheon 
are  queer  imitations  of  London  or  Paris." 

"We  like  to  come  here  because  the  men  pay  no  attention 
to  us.  It  is  men  of  your  class  that  know  how  to  make  us 
thoroughly  uncomfortable. ' ' 

"Quite  so.  Every  class  has  its  own  code.  In  ours  it 
may  be  said  that  the  women  set  the  pace.  They  demand 
open  admiration  and  we  are  gallant  enough  to  give  it. 
This  class  bothers  itself  little  about  the  unattainable,  and 


192     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

merely  throws  you  the  passing  tribute  they  would  throw 
to  the  Queen,  or  to  a  beautiful  work  of  art." 

"Which  they  appreciate.  Would  that  our  working- 
classes  did.  On  this  side  the  masses  are  as  likely  as  not 
to  spend  their  holidays  in  a  picture  gallery  or  a  museum. 
Ours  can  think  of  nothing  better  than  a  saloon." 

"That  may  be  the  fault  of  your  great  country.  The 
crude  mind  is  easily  trained.  Give  your  working-people 
more  galleries  and  museums  and  fewer  saloons — or  cantinas 
with  their  light  wines,  and  beer  gardens,  instead  of  rum 
and  whiskey.  But  it  is  unfair  to  expect  a  new  and  hetero 
geneous — almost  chaotic — country  to  compete  with  twenty 
centuries."  Two  pairs  of  American  eyes  flashed,  and  he 
continued  suavely.  "I  fear  that  the  old  standards  of 
my  own  people  are  in  danger  of  being  demoralised  by 
socialism  and  the  new  craving  for  raw  spirits.  That  is 
becoming  a  serious  question  with  us."  He  turned  to  Ida. 
"It  is  far  more  odd  to  see  you  without  your  usual  train 
of  admirers — both  of  you.  How  do  you  stand  it  ? " 

"Oh,  we're  merely  recuperating,"  said  Ida  lightly,  and 
smiling  into  his  admiring  eyes.  "We  will  return  to  the 
fray  refreshed  and  more  dangerous  than  ever." 

"How  much  longer  shall  you  stay  here?" 

"A  week  or  two.  Then  we  go  on  to  Paris.  After  that 
Egypt,  Spain,  or  some  other  old  place." 

"But  not  without  seeing  Monte  Carlo?  You  must  let 
me  show  it  to  you." 

"I  suppose  that  is  an  old  stamping  ground  of  yours?" 

"I  go  once  a  year,  although,  like  a  good  many  other 
pleasures,  it  has  lost  its  irresistible  fascination.  But  I 
shall  enjoy  seeing  you  catch  the  gambling  fever." 

"  I  'm  not  very  susceptible  to  microbes,  but  I  don 't  doubt 
Mrs.  Blake  will  gamble  the  clothes  off  her  back.  That 
would  be  the  good  old  Montana  style."  And  she  told  him 
something  of  life  in  Butte  before  it  indulged  in  one  of  its 
spasms  of  exterior  reform,  and  of  the  present  life  on  The 
Flat. 

"I  must  see  your  Butte,"  he  said  enthusiastically.  "An 
English  friend  of  mine  has  a  ranch  in  Wyoming,  and  I 
may  go  out  there  next  year." 

Ora  stood  this  until  the  fish  had  been  removed ;  then  she 
emerged  conclusively  from  the  cold  and  nervous  apathy 
that  had  possessed  her  for  several  days,  and  began  to 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     193 

sparkle.  Ida  was  no  match  for  her  when  she  chose  to 
exert  herself,  for  that  native  product  only  really  shone 
when  able  to  employ  her  own  rich  vocabulary.  She  sub 
sided  with  a  smile  and  devoted  herself  to  the  excellent 
dinner,  while  Ora  entertained  their  fastidious  host  with 
bright  little  stories  of  the  adventures  they  never  failed  to 
experience,  being  two  young  women  who  travelled  with 
their  eyes  and  ears  wide  open.  Valdobia,  now  satisfied 
that  he  had  recaptured  the  interest  of  his  lady  and  been 
in  a  measure  forgiven,  gave  her  all  his  attention ;  although 
not  a  man  disposed  to  conversational  exertion,  he  took 
pains  to  interest  her  in  return.  They  discussed  the  news 
of  the  day  and  the  latest  books;  and  his  deference  to  her 
opinions  was  very  flattering,  although  he  did  not  permit  a 
flash  of  his  eyes  to  betray  his  passionate  delight  at  being 
once  more  with  this  woman  whom  he  thought  lovelier  and 
more  desirable  than  ever.  Ora  wore  a  blue  velvet  suit, 
not  too  dark,  and  a  little  hat  of  the  same  shade  with  a 
long  feather  that  nestled  in  her  warm  ashen  hair.  Her 
cheeks  were  as  pink  as  her  lips,  and  she  held  her  chin  up 
as  if  drinking  in  the  elixir  of  her  native  air.  She  looked 
very  young  and  wholly  without  guile. 

She  continued  to  enchant  him  until  they  were  in  the 
Bristol,  and  the  lift  stopped  at  the  first  floor.  Then  she 
abruptly  bade  him  good  night,  and  ascended  to  her  room, 
while  the  others  went  into  the  smoking-room  and  ordered 
coffee  at  one  of  the  smaller  tables. 

"Well?"  said  Ida,  smiling.  "I'm  not  the  sort  that 
talks  in  circles  except  when  I'm  on  parade.  I'm  glad 
you've  come.  Ora  was  fearfully  down  about  something. 
I  believe  she  likes  you  better  than  any  man  she  has  met 
over  here.  A  little  flirtation  will  do  her  no  end  of  good." 

Valdobia  coloured.  He  was  as  practical  as  most  Italians, 
but  by  no  means  given  to  the  direct  method  of  speech  with 
women.  Love  simplifies  among  other  things,  however,  and 
after  a  moment  he  put  down  his  cup  and  looked  her 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

"I  think  I  shall  take  you  into  my  confidence,"  he  said. 
"I  know  that  you  are  honest  and  that  I  can  trust  to  your 
discretion " 

' 'You  bet." 

Ida  relaxed  her  spine  with  her  speech  and  settled  herself 
comfortably. 


194    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"And  you  could  give  me  great  assistance.  I  want  to 
persuade  your  friend — may  I  call  her  Ora  to  you?  It  is 
a  beautiful  name  and  I  have  said  it  so  often  to  myself " 

"Ora  goes." 

"I  want  to  persuade  Ora  to  divorce  her  husband  and 
marry  me. ' ' 

"Aw — that  is — Good  Lord!"  Ida  sat  up  straight  and 
nearly  dropped  her  cup.  "That's  a  large  order." 

"Bather.  But  I — now — want  nothing  less.  I  am  sick 
of  the  other  sort  of  thing,  even  if  she  were  not  too  good 
for  it.  I  want  ta  marry — and  she  is  the  only  woman  I 
ever  have  wanted  to  marry." 

"Hm.  You  Italians  haven't  the  name  of  being  the  best 
husbands  in  the  world.  How  long  would  you  be  faithful 
to  her?" 

' '  I  have  no  intention  of  ever  being  anything  else. ' ' 

"That's  what  they  all  say — think,  no  doubt." 

' '  I  shall  be. ' '    He  spoke  with  intense  conviction. 

"Well,  perhaps — you've  lived  your  life.  I  should  think 
you  men  would  get  mighty  sick  of  dancing  about  and 
never  coming  to  anchor.  But  divorce  ?  There 's  Mark,  you 
know." 

"Her  present  husband?" 

"Yes,  and  a  rattling  good  fellow.  He  married  Ora 
when  she  didn't  know  which  way  to  turn,  and  she  is  really 
grateful  to  him,  and  as  fond  of  him  as  if  he  were  her  own 
brother.  I  don't  think  she'll  turn  him  down." 

'  *  Women  have  been  known  to  desert  their  brothers  before 
this!  I  mean  to  make  her  love  me,  and  if  I  do — how  she 
could  love  a  man ! — I  fancy  I  can  persuade  her. ' ' 

' '  I  like  Mark  and  I  don 't  want  to  see  him  thrown  down. 
He's  not  what  you  might  call  in  love  with  Ora — he  got 
discouraged  pretty  early  in  the  game.  But  he's  fond  of 
her  and  proud  of  her,  and  he  has  ambitions.  She  could 
help  him  a  lot." 

Valdobia  lit  another  cigarette. 

"Better  have  a  liaison  and  get  over  it.  Then  he'll  never 
know,  and  what  men  don't  know  don't  hurt  them." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  mean  to  marry  her. 
Will  you  help  me  or  not?" 

"Ora'd  look  fine  all  right  in  that  old  palace  of  yours. 
It  would  suit  her  a  long  sight  better  than  Butte,  or  even 
Washington — let  alone  Helena ;  Mark  wouldn  't  mind  a  bit 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     195 

being  Governor  of  Montana.  Have  you  got  a  castle  in 
the  country  ?" 

"I  have  several." 

'  *  Fine !    I  'd  visit  you  every  year. ' ' 

"No  one  would  be  half  as  welcome." 

"I've  been  away  from  America  so  long  and  seen  so 
much,  and  Butte  seems  so  far  away,  that  I've  kind  of  lost 
my  bearings.  If  you'd  come  over  there  and  lay  your 
siege,  I  guess  I  'd  fight  you  to  the  last  ditch. ' ' 

"Permit  me  to  remind  you  that  we  are  in  Italy,  a  state 
several  centuries  ahead  of  yours  in  civilisation,  even  if  we 
lack  your  facile  divorce  laws.  I  know  something  of  Mr. 
Blake  from  Mrs.  O'Neil.  Can  you  picture  Ora  finishing 
her  life  with  him?" 

"No,  I  can't,  and  that's  a  fact.  I  wonder  there  hasn't 
been  a  grand  bust-up  before  this.  It  will  come  some  day. 
Why  not  now  ? ' ' 

"Quite  so." 

"And  Mark  could  get  a  dozen  girls  to  suit  him  better, 
make  him  nice  and  comfy.  He'll  never  get  any  real  com 
panionship  out  of  Ora,  fine  as  she's  always  treated  him, 
A  man  like  that  needs  a  running  mate." 

"I  shall  waste  none  of  my  mental  energy  in  sympathy 
for  Mr.  Mark  Blake.  American  husbands,  so  far  as  I  have 
been  permitted  to  observe,  are  accustomed  not  only  to 
being  deserted  for  months  and  even  years  at  a  time,  but  to 
periodical  divorce." 

"  It 's  not  quite  as  bad  as  that,  but  Mark  has  the  elasticity 
of  an  india  rubber  ball,  and  that's  a  fact." 

' '  Good.    Will  you  help  me  f " 

Ida  hesitated  an  instant  longer,  then,  dimly  conscious 
that  her  answer  in  a  measure  was  dictated  by  a  profound 
instinct  she  made  no  attempt  to  define,  exclaimed,  "It's  a 
go.  I  believe  it  wrill  be  all  for  the  best.  Shake. ' '  And  she 
gave  his  hand  a  hearty  grasp. 

"You  are  a  brick,"  he  murmured,  with  a  sensation  of 
gratitude  he  had  rarely  experienced.  "But  there  is  one 
thing  more.  Please  give  her  no  hint  of  this,  for  the  present 
at  least.  Tell  her,  and  make  her  believe  it,  that  I  have 
not  come  here  to  trouble  her,  that  she  need  never  fear  to 
trust  herself  alone  with  me.  Tell  her  that  I  only  want  to 
enjoy  her  society  and  make  things  pleasant  for  her." 

"Right  you  are.    Ora 's  not  the  sort  you  can  rush.    But 


196     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

don't  overdo  it  and  make  her  think  you've  altogether  got 
over  it.  Sometimes  that  piques  and  works  out  all  right 
and  sometimes  it  don't.  She's  as  proud  as  Lucifer  and 
might  get  over  her  fancy  for  you  while  she  was  still  mad." 

"You  do  know  your  sex!  I'll  use  all  the  art  I've  ever 
acquired. ' ' 

"Kespeetful  devotion  without  humility,  and  pained  self- 
control.  That 's  your  lay. ' ' 

He  laughed  heartily.    "We'll  drift  for  the  present." 

"Well,  now,  drift  out.  I  want  to  go  up  and  sound  her. 
I'm  simply  expiring  to  know  what  she's  thinking  about 
at  the  present  moment. ' ' 


W 


XXXIII 

HEN  Ida  reached  her  room  she  put  her  ear  to  the 
closed   door    leading   into    Ora's,    and   heard    the 
scratch  of  the  hotel  pen. 

"May  I  come  in?"  she  asked  softly. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  paper,  the  snap  of  a  trunk  lid, 
and  then  Ora  said  in  tones  as  dulcet,  "Come  in,  dear." 

Ida  entered  and  found  Ora  extended  on  the  sofa. 

"What  did  you  run  off  like  that  for?"  she  asked,  as 
she  selected  the  least  uncomfortable  of  the  chairs  in  the 
fresh  and  artistic  but  hardly  luxurious  room.  "The  poor 
man  was  as  glum  as  a  funeral  until  he'd  had  two  cups  of 
coffee  and  several  cigarettes." 

"I  was  tired.    And  I  really  think  he  has  followed  you." 

"You  don't  think  anything  of  the  sort.  His  heart  was 
in  his  patent  leathers  when  he  met  us,  and  I  just  tided 
him  over.  He  gave  me  a  message  for  you.  Shall  I  de 
liver  it?" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Ora  languidly. 

' '  He  wants  me  to  impress  you  with  the  fact  that  he 's  not 
come  here  to  make  love  to  you,  just  to  enjoy  your  ex 
hilarating  society " 

"Is  he  over  it?"    Ora's  eyes  flashed  upward. 

"Not  exactly,  but  he  has  no  intention  of  making  any 
more  breaks,  and  being  cut  off  from  the  solace  of  your 
company  now  and  then — principally  now,  I  guess.  He's 
got  to  see  you  or  go  off  to  India  and  shoot  tigers.  But 
he 's  really  much  nicer  than  I  had  any  idea  of,  and  is  anx 
ious  to  give  us  a  good  time.  Life  is  a  desert,  kid,  with 
all  the  men  we  know  in  the  next  town.  Men  were  invented 
to  amuse  us,  so  do  continue  to  thaw.  You  did  bravely 
when  you  got  started,  and  no  harm  will  be  done.  If  you 
can't  fall  in  love  with  him  you  can't,  and  he's  prepared 

197 


198     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

to  take  his  medicine.  He 's  a  good  sport.  A  man  like  that 
can  behave  himself  when  he  sets  his  mind  to  it." 

"Is  he  indulging  in  the  hope  that  I  can  be  made  to  care 
for  him?" 

"Men  are  so  conceited  that  they  always  hope  for  the 
best.  But  he'll  not  worry  you,  that's  the  point.  It  will 
be  fine  to  have  him  pilot  us  about;  perhaps  he'll  get  us 
inside  of  one  of  those  old  palaces  in  the  Via  Garibaldi. 
And  he  '11  take  us  to  Monte  Carlo.  How  do  you  feel  about 
it?" 

' '  I  don 't  care  whether  he  goes  or  stays,  but  on  the  whole 
I  am  rather  glad  he  is  here.  He  has  brains  and  I  like  to 
talk  to  clever  men  that  have  seen  the  world. ' ' 

"And  don't  keep  me  hitched  to  your  elbow  all  the  time, 
for  mercy's  sake.  I  hope  he'll  dig  up  some  friend  of  his 
here  who  will  beau  me.  Give  him  a  chance  and  remember 
he  is  a  gentleman  and  has  passed  his  word." 

"Is  this  a  plot?"  Ora  laughed.  "Don't  worry.  I 
won't  bore  you  any  more  than  I  can  help.  I  fancy  I  am 
quite  safe,  for  he  never  really  can  see  me  alone,  as  we 
have  no  salon  here.  Besides,  in  long  days  of  sight-seeing 
he'll  no  doubt  recover,  and  we  shall  become  merely  the 
best  of  friends." 

"That's  what  I'm  figuring  on.  Now,  cut  out  those 
love-letters  and  come  down  to  earth." 

Ora  sat  up  in  her  indignation.  * '  Love  letters  ?  I  Ve  not 
written  a  line  of  love." 

' '  What  in  the  name  of  goodness  do  you  write  about  then 
to  this  lover  in  the  air?" 

"Oh,  I  just — talk — about  everything  that  interests  me — 
the  things  one  says  to  a  familiar  spirit — that  is  if  there 
were  such  a  thing — but  otherwise  has  to  keep  to  oneself 
always. ' ' 

'  *  And  you  don 't  call  them  love  letters,  because  you  leave 
out  the  'darlings'  and  'dears'?  Good  thing  the  man  will 
never  see  them.  Good  thing  for  more  reasons  than  one. 
Men  hate  long  letters.  If  I'd  disobeyed  orders  and  in 
flicted  Greg,  I  never  would  have  got  that  house  and  the 
extra  ten  thousand." 

"And  yet  he  was  in  love  with  you  once?" 

"Thought  he  was.  Just  had  the  usual  attack  of  brain 
fever  men  always  get  when  they  can't  have  the  girl  they 
want  without  marrying  her.  Lasted  about  a  month.  Greg 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     190 

cares  too  much  for  other  things  for  any  woman  to  last 
more  than  a  few  minutes  in  his  life,  anyway.  Just  the 
husband  for  me." 

Ora  was  swinging  one  foot  and  looking  at  the  point  of 
her  slipper. 

"I  shan't  destroy  those  letters,"  she  said  finally,  " be 
cause  they  have  meant  something  to  me  that  nothing  in 
this  life  ever  will  again.  But  I'll  write  no  more." 

They  remained  in  Genoa  for  ten  days  longer.  Valdobia, 
who  had  taken  rooms  at  the  Miramare,  gave  them  a  dinner 
and  they  met  several  of  his  Genoese  friends,  but  none  of 
the  men  was  blest  with  Ida's  critical  approval.  Her  de 
mand  for  the  admiration  of  men  was  merely  a  part  of  her 
insolent  pride  in  her  beauty  and  magnetism  and  her  love 
of  power;  she  had  little  natural  coquetry,  and  wasted  no 
time  on  a  man  who  bored  her  or  was  not  "worth  while." 
She  particularly  hated  soft  dark  eyes,  and  the  two  un 
fortunate  young  scions  of  the  aristocracy  of  Genoa  invited 
by  Valdobia,  had  peculiarly  lovely  orbs  that  they  rolled 
exceedingly.  But  it  was  a  merry  party,  for  no  people 
can  be  gayer  than  the  Genoese,  and  they  played  baccarat 
until  two  in  the  morning ;  a  new  experience  for  the  Ameri 
cans.  During  the  hours  devoted  to  the  game  Ida  had  the 
satisfaction  of  observing  that  two  pairs  of  flaming  dark 
eyes  had  apparently  forgotten  the  existence  of  woman. 
Even  Valdobia,  who  held  the  bank  twice  and  lost  a  good 
deal  of  money,  became  very  keen  on  the  table,  although 
he  kept  Ora  beside  him  and  taught  her  all  that  one  can 
learn  of  a  game  of  chance.  The  stakes  ran  very  high  to 
ward  the  end,  Valdobia  lost  several  thousand  francs,  and 
Ora  five  hundred.  She  would  have  lost  more,  no  doubt, 
for  she  found  it  an  interesting  and  exciting  experience, 
but  Valdobia  dictated  her  stakes,  and  she  meekly  obeyed. 
Ida,  who  had  been  wary,  came  out  even. 

"You  don't  catch  me  dropping  good  money  when  I 
don't  get  something  good  enough  in  return,"  she  an 
nounced  as  they  entered  her  room  at  the  hotel.  "It's  fun 
all  right,  but  like  most  things  that  are  off  on  a  side-track 
from  your  main  purpose  in  life,  just  to  be  nibbled  at.  I 
prefer  bridge  anyhow." 

"Do  you?  I  think  I  like  the  game  of  chance.  I  don't 
mind  losing " 


200     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Well,  I  do.  It  made  me  sick  to  see  you  lose  five  hun 
dred  francs,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Valdobia  you'd  have 
lost  as  much  more.  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink  if  I'd  lost  a 
hundred  plunks." 

Ora  laughed.  "It  would  be  great  fun  to  see  you  really 
excited  and  carried  away  about  something.  I  hope  you 
will  have  visions  of  sudden  wealth  at  Monte  Carlo  and 
forget  the  world." 

"Not  much!"  said  Ida  contemptuously.  "I'll  be  rich 
all  right,  but  it'll  be  because  I  take  no  chances.  I  knew 
whom  I  was  marrying,  and  he'll  make  the  millions.  You'll 
never  see  me  spend  a  cent  unless  it  brings  in  good  interest, 
like  clothes,  and  tips,  and  entertaining.  And  the  only 
thing  that  could  excite  me  would  be  if  Amalgamated  got 
the  hill,  and  Greg  had  to  go  to  work  to  make  his  fortune 
as  a  mining  engineer.  But  I'm  not  the  kind  to  get 
wrinkles  worrying.  Lord!  Don't  the  people  in  this  town 
ever  go  to  sleep?" 

Their  windows  were  close  to  the  Via  Venti  Settembre, 
although  on  a  short  side  street.  It  is  possible  that  the 
afternoon  throngs  are  replaced  by  a  different  set  in  the 
evening,  and  these  again  by  lovers  of  the  night ;  but  certain 
it  is  that  the  more  inviting  of  the  streets  are  rarely  deserted 
until  dawn,  and  the  later  the  revellers  the  more  noisy 
they  are ;  following  a  universal  law  of  nature.  When  the 
light-hearted  Genoese  has  sung  all  his  songs  to  the  stars 
and  chattered  at  the  top  of  his  voice  for  several  hours, 
he  stands  still  and  screams.  The  girls  put  their  heads  out 
of  the  window,  wondering  if  anyone  were  being  murdered 
below.  A  group  of  young  men  were  standing  in  a  circle 
and  outscreaming  one  another. 

Ida  slammed  the  long  windows  together,  fastened  the 
catch  and  covered  them  with  the  heavy  shutters.  "Me  for 
beauty  sleep,"  she  said;  "I  like  air  all  right,  but  I  like 
quiet  better.  Good  night." 

Ora  left  her  window  open  and  lay  thinking  for  a  long 
time.  She  liked  the  new  excitement  of  gambling,  and  she 
was  divided  between  regret  and  gratitude  that  for  the  last 
five  days  she  had  enjoyed  thoroughly  the  society  of  the 
man  who  would  have  been  the  chief  exponent  of  the  type 
she  admired  had  he  possessed  more  primitive  strength  of 
personality;  had  he  been  obliged  to  develop  his  native 
forces  in  a  fierce  battle  with  life  instead  of  having  been 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     201 

from  birth  one  of  her  favourites.  But  he  was  a  man,  brave, 
unsoftened  by  luxury,  quick,  keen,  resourceful,  modern 
to  his  finger-tips,  an  almost  perfect  companion.  What 
more  could  any  woman  ask?  Ora  wondered  just  what  it 
was  she  did  ask.  She  felt  very  grateful  to  him,  however. 
Her  regret  was  that  her  unreal  life  seemed  to  be  over,  or 
slept  profoundly  when  she  perversely  and  tentatively  sum 
moned  it.  That  life  had  been  terrible  in  its  intensity,  only 
retreating  now  and  again  when  real  events  crowded,  or 
she  deliberately  tried  to  interest  herself  in  a  new  and 
charming  personality.  But  all  men  sooner  or  later  faded 
to  the  transparency  of  wraiths  beside  the  vital  figure  that 
dominated  her  imaginative  life.  Would  Valdobia  accom 
plish  the  miracle?  At  least  he  gave  her  peace  for  the 
moment.  She  fell  asleep  smiling  and  deliberately  thinking 
of  him, 


XXXIV 

N  the  following  day  they  lunched  at  a  large  restaurant 
opposite  the  Bourse,  a  favourite  resort  of  the  two 
girls;  it  amused  them  to  watch  the  keen  clever  business 
men  of  Genoa  at  their  midday  meal  in  leisurely  conversa 
tion  and  enjoyment  of  their  excellent  food  and  wine; 
contrasting  them  with  the  American  who  took  five  minutes 
for  lunch,  achieving  dyspepsia  instead  of  nutriment,  and 
possibly  accomplishing  less  than  a  race  which  has  been 
commercial  and  acquisitive  since  the  dawn  of  its  history. 
There  is  little  real  poverty  in  Genoa  and  great  wealth. 

They  had  come  too  late  to  secure  one  of  the  tables  over 
looking  the  Piazzi  Defarrari,  and  were  facing  the  windows, 
at  one  of  the  longer  tables,  when  Valdobia,  who  sat  op 
posite,  rose  with  a  word  of  apology  and  went  behind  them 
to  greet  a  man  with  a  pleasant  English  voice. 

"Lord  John  Mowbray,"  whispered  Ida.  "He's  all 
right,  but,  lord,  I'll  be  glad  to  get  back  to  a  country  where 
a  few  men  are  plain  mister." 

Nevertheless,  as  the  Englishman  bent  over  her  with  a 
delighted  word  of  greeting,  she  lifted  her  heavy  eyes  to 
his  with  the  expression  of  one  whose  long  suppressed  hopes 
have  blossomed  at  last. 

"I  wish  I  could  join  you,"  he  said  ruefully,  "but  I  am 
with  a  party  of  friends." 

"Get  rid  of  them  after  lunch,"  murmured  Ida,  "and 
come  with  us.  We  are  going  to  explore  all  those  interest 
ing  little  streets  down  in  the  gulch — that  is  to  say  the 
ravine,  or  whatever  it  was  once — and  it  would  be  jolly  to 
have  you  along." 

"I  will,"  he  said,  with  fervour,  "and  I  know  what  a 
gulch  is.  My  brother  is  ranching  in  Wyoming,  and  I  may 
join  him  there  in  a  few  months.  I  believe  he  also  has 
interests  in  Butte." 

"Good!  We'll  begin  to  get  friendly  right  now.  So 

202 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     203 

long."  Valdobia  returned  to  his  chair,  and  she  asked, 
* '  Is  he  a  brother  of  your  Wyoming  friend  ? ' ' 

"He  is,  and  no  doubt  we'll  go  out  together.  Your 
Northwest  must  be  the  realest  thing  left  in  the  world." 

"It's  that,  all  right.  And  it  will  be  no  end  of  fun  hav 
ing  you  out  there!"  She  smiled  sardonically,  and  Ora 
coloured  and  moved  restlessly.  She  was  vaguely  aware 
of  a  new  drama  unfolding,  and  had  no  wish  to  analyse  it. 

Mowbray,  to  Ida's  satisfaction,  not  only  deserted  his 
friends  after  luncheon,  but  permitted  them  to  go  on  to 
Rome  without  him  and  lingered  in  Genoa.  He  was  a  fair 
well  set-up  young  Englishman,  with  a  nonchalant  manner 
and  an  inflammable  heart.  Ida  had  met  him  at  a  country 
house  and  amused  herself  "landing  him,"  but  as  she  had 
left  England  immediately  after,  and  hunting  had  claimed 
all  his  ardours,  she  neither  had  seen  nor  heard  from  him 
since.  Although  she  meant  to  keep  him  at  her  elbow  as 
long  as  he  served  her  purpose,  she  knew  him  to  be  a  shy 
youth  under  his  natural  buoyancy  and  quick  intelligence, 
and  did  not  disturb  her  placid  mind  with  visions  of 
"scenes."  On  the  whole  she  liked  Englishmen  better  than 
any  of  the  men  she  had  met  in  Europe,  for  they  had  more 
pride  and  self-control  where  women  were  concerned;  if 
things  went  deeper  with  them  they  were  less  likely  to 
offend  her  cold  purity  with  outbursts  of  passion;  which, 
she  confided  to  Ora,  "made  her  sick." 

To  her  delight  Yaldobia  took  them  one  afternoon  to  call 
on  an  elderly  relative  who  lived  in  one  of  the  great  palaces 
of  the  Via  Garibaldi.  They  were  escorted  up  to  the  top 
floor;  the  rooms  on  the  other  pianos  were  either  closed 
or  emitted  the  chill  breath  of  the  tomb.  Their  destination 
was  a  large  lofty  room,  inadequately  heated  by  a  stove  in 
one  corner;  their  noble  hostess  was  fortified  against  the 
cold  by  several  shawls  and  a  foot- warmer.  She  had  invited 
three  other  aristocratic  relics  in  to  look  at  "the  Ameri 
cans,"  and,  although  the  principessa  and  her  friends  were 
more  polite  than  they  would  have  been  to  intruding  bour 
geoises  of  their  own  country,  it  was  apparent  that  they 
could  find  little  to  say  to  two  young  women  from  a  land 
of  which  they  had  a  confused  and  wholly  contemptuous 
apprehension.  They  knew  that  its  chief  title  to  fame  was 
its  original  discovery  by  a  Genoese,  that  the  lower  classes 
emigrated  to  it  a  good  deal,  and  that  many  American 


204     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

women,  who  spent  far  too  much  money  on  their  clothes 
visited  Europe  and  occasionally  married  above  them' 
More  than  this  they  neither  knew  nor  cared  to  know.  So 
far  as  they  were  concerned  new  countries  did  not  exist 
Conversation  languished.  Ida  was  suppressed,  and 
divided  between  a  desire  to  laugh  and  to  scream.  Ora, 
with  a  heroic  effort,  talked  about  the  mistake  the  average 
American  made  in  seeing  so  little  of  Genoa;  but,  having 
laid  aside  her  furs  out  of  politeness,  she  was  shivering 
and  unable  to  drink  the  strong  coffee  which  immediately 
succumbed  to  the  temperature  of  the  room. 

She  sent  an  appealing  glance  to  Valdobia,  who  was 
smiling  to  himslf.  Lord  John,  who  had  been  honoured 
by  a  chair  beside  his  hostess,  treated  with  the  consideration 
due  his  ancient  lineage,  was  delivering  himself  of  spas 
modic  clauses,  with  one  eye  on  Valdobia. 

"Jimminy!"  whispered  Ida,  who  now  felt  quite  at 
home  with  her  fellow  conspirator,  "if  you  don't  get  us 
out  of  this  quick  111  have  high-strikes,  and  Ora '11  get  a 
cold  and  be  laid  up  for  a  week.  I  always  keep  her  in  bed 
when  she  has  a  cold." 

Valdobia  rose  instantly.     "We  have  an  engagement  in 
half  an  hour,"  he  said  to  his  mother's  second  cousin. 
Perhaps  you  will  permit  me  to  show  these  ladies  over  the 
palace?" 

''Oh,  do!"  exclaimed  Mowbray,  acting  on  instinct,  for 
he  was  too  cold  and  too  unnerved  to  think.  "I'd  like 
jolly  well  to  see  it  myself;  must  be  rippin'." 

The  permission  was  given  with  some  graciousness,  and 
the  party  bowed  themselves  out.  As  they  descended  the 
grand  staircase,  they  heard  a  buzz  of  voices  behind  them 
as^pf  several  elderly  ladies  talking  at  once. 

"We'd  be  roasting  on  red  hot  coals  this  minute  if  there 
were  any  in  that  refrigerator,"  said  Ida,  "but  I  don't 
care  so  long  as  we  are  going  to  see  the  real  part  of  the 
palace." 

An  aged  major  domo  showed  them  through  the  mag 
nificent  reception  rooms,  built  for  entertaining  a  proud  and 
gorgeous  aristocracy  in  the  days  when  Genoa  was  known 
throughout  Europe  as  "La  Superba."  They  were  hung 
with  tapestries  or  cordova  leather,  and  filled  with  priceless 
pictures,  porcelains,  enamels,  gold  and  silver  ware,  and 
massive  furniture.  Valdobia  told  them  dramas  sentimental 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL,     205 

and  tragic  which  had  been  enacted  within  the  walls  of  the 
historic  house.  But  they  had  to  stamp  about  to  avoid  a 
chill,  and  were  glad  to  emerge  into  the  warmer  air  of  even 
the  narrow  street. 

"Well,"  announced  Ida,  as  they  walked  rapidly  out  of 
the  Via  Garibaldi  into  the  broad  sunshine  of  the  Piazza 
delle  Fontane  Marose,  l '  if  that 's  a  sample  of  your  ancient 
aristocracy  no  more  of  it  in  mine.  My  curiosity  is  satisfied 
for  good  and  all.  Why  on  earth  don't  they  live  like  human 
beings?" 

' '  Or  steam-heated  Americans  ? ' '  asked  Valdobia,  smiling. 
"Console  yourself  with  the  assurance  that  you  are  the 
only  Americans  that  have  ever  crossed  that  threshold." 

"It  doesn't  console  me  one  little  bit,  and  I  feel  pneu 
monia  coming  on.  Let's  walk  as  fast  as  we  know  how!" 
And  accompanied  by  the  willing  Englishman  she  started 
off  with  a  stride  that  soon  left  the  others  far  behind. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Valdobia  disgustedly,  "that  this  older 
generation  does  not  know  how  to  live,  not  in  any  sense. 
They  possess  the  greatest  wealth  in  Italy,  and  they  hoard 
it  as  if  poverty  stared  them  in  the  face.  They  have  only 
to  turn  on  the  electric  lights  once  a  week  and  provide  a 
simple  supper  to  make  Genoa  one  of  the  most  delightful 
cities  in  Europe,  but  they  won't  even  do  that.  They  have 
the  finest  jewels  in  Italy  and  never  wear  them  except  on 
the  rare  occasions  when  the  King  and  Queen  visit  Genoa 
and  command  them  to  the  royal  palace.  Thank  heaven 
there  is  a  younger  set,  equally  well  born,  that  live  in  the 
new  apartment  houses  or  in  those  villas  up  on  the  hills, 
and  are  neither  too  economical  nor  too  antiquated  in  their 
ideas  to  enjoy  life.  Those  old  people  are  divided  up  into 
intimate  little  sets  and  spend  their  lives  gossipping  about 
the  rest  of  Genoa  or  talking  of  the  past.  But  I  do  hope 
you  did  not  take  cold." 

"I  didn't,  and  I  really  enjoyed  it!"  said  Ora,  smiling 
mischievously.  "I  amused  myself  thinking  what  would 
happen  if  I  told  our  uncomfortable  hostess  that  my  father 's 
sister  had  married  a  Roman  relative  of  her  husband;  but 
I  wouldn't  have  relieved  the  situation  for  the  world.  I 
suppose  they  are  fumigating  themselves." 

"I  don't  doubt  it.  They  think  they  are  aristocratic  and 
are  merely  provincial." 

"How  different  you  are!"     Ora  looked  at  him  admir- 


206     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

ingly.  "One  hardly  could  believe  that  you  belonged  to 
the  same  race.*' 

"I  don't.  I  am  a  Koman,  and  a  citizen  of  the  world. 
No  doubt  you,  too,  have  a  root  that  runs  back  into  the 
dark  ages,  but  today  is  all  that  counts  with  us.  I  mean 
that  in  more  senses  than  one ! ' '  And,  although  he  smiled, 
he  gave  her  a  quick  side-glance. 

"I  hope  so.  I  am  well  aware  that  you  are  enjoying 
yourself  immensely."  Ora  felt  it  quite  safe  to  flirt  with 
him  in  the  open  street. 

1  'Do  you  like  me  a  little  better ?" 

"Rather.  Friendly  companionship  is  my  chief  idea  of 
happiness,  now  that  I  am  more  or  less  tired  of  books." 

"Is  it ?  May  it  be  my  good  fortune  to  initiate  you  into 
a  higher !  You  have  everything  to  learn ! ' ' 

"Have  I?    I  wonder!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Have  you  ever  been  in 
love?" 

"Not  the  least  little  bit!" 

"You  said  that  rather  too  vehemently.  It  is  my  turn 
to  wonder."  This  time  he  looked  hard  at  her  and  his  face 
was  grim.  He  had  a  way  of  setting  his  jaw  that  reminded 
her  of  the  man  whose  haunting  memory  had  made  her 
alternately  happy  and  miserable  during  many  long  months. 
She  looked  away  hastily. 

"The  kind  of  love  you  mean  I  have  not  the  very  least 
knowledge  of.  You  must  believe  that." 

"Of  what  other  kind,  then?" 

"Oh,  all  women  dream,  you  know,"  she  said  lightly. 
"They  have  a  sort  of  ideal  that  consoles  them  for  missing 
the  realities  of  life.  You  come  quite  close  to  it,"  and  once 
more  she  sparkled  her  eyes  at  him. 

' '  I  have  no  intention  of  letting  you  flirt  with  me, ' '  said 
Valdobia  calmly.  "My  flirting  days  are  over.  I  shall 
remain  the  best  of  your  friends  until  you  love  me  or  send 
me  to  the  other  end  of  the  world." 

"Well,  don't  become  serious  and  spoil  everything." 

"I  shall  not  lose  my  head,  if  that  is  what  you  mean," 
he  said  drily.  "I  find  the  present  state  of  affairs  very 
Let  us  overtake  the  others  and  go  for  a  drive." 


XXXV 


>  returned 

to  the  hotel  to  dress  for  dinner,  "did  you  have  a 
queer  feeling  when  you  were  prowling  through  those  dim 
old  rooms,  furnished  three  or  four  hundred  years  ago,  and 
the  scene  of  all  sorts  of  romance  and  tragedy  ?" 

"I  had  a  queer  feeling  all  right.  Had  visions  of  rheu 
matism,  sciatica,  pneumonia,  and  a  red  nose  for  a  week. 
I  suppose  those  wonderful  velvet  gowns  they  wore—  in 
pictures,  anyhow  —  were  padded  inside,  and  they  slept  in 
them;  didn't  take  them  off  all  winter.  If  I  lived  in  one 
of  those  palaces  today  I'd  surely  lose  all  my  good  Ameri 
can  habits." 

"Didn't  you  have  any  haunting  sense  of  mystery—  ot 
having  been  there  before?" 

"Nixie!  No  wonder  I  murdered  if  I  ever  was.  How 
ever,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  "there's  no  telling  what  I 
might  have  felt  if  they'd  had  a  furnace  in  the  house. 
There  was  something  wonderful  about  it,  all  right  —  being 
in  those  musty  old  rooms,  that  fairly  smelt  of  the  past.  I 
guess  they'll  haunt  me  as  some  of  those  Roman  palaces 
have  that  are  not  shown  to  the  public.  But  don't  put 
weird  ideas  into  my  head,  Ora.  They  don't  gee  with 
Butte.  The  severely  practical  is  my  lay." 

"Don't  you  think  there  could  be  romance  and  tragedy 
in  Butte?" 

"Oh,  plenty  of  shooting,  if  you  mean  that;  and  mixmg- 
up.  But  people  don't  stay  jealous  long  enough  to  get  real 
tragic  about  it;  they  just  get  a  divorce.  We've  improved 
on  daggers  and  poisoned  bowls  and  rings,  and  the  rest  of 
it.  Good  old  Butte!" 

They  all  dined  at  the  Bristol  that  night,  and  soon  after 
nine  o'clock  had  the  smoking-room  to  themselves.  Ida, 
indeed,  carried  Mowbray  off  into  the  reading-room.  Ora 
sighed  'as  she  found  herself  alone  with  the  handsome  dis 
tinguished  Roman  of  the  type  that  even  in  minor  exponents 

207 


208     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

so  often  compelled  her  response.  "Why  didn't  she  love 
him  ?  He  was  proving  himself  the  ideal  companion.  There 
was  apparently  no  question  to  which  he  had  not  given 
some  thought,  and  he  knew  far  more  about  the  subjects 
that  appealed  to  her  than  she  did  herself.  They  discussed 
the  ever-fascinating  sexual  problems  impersonally,  deli 
cately,  and  exhaustively,  a  feat  in  itself,  an  experience 
Ora  never  had  enjoyed  before;  for  while  it  drew  them 
together  it  apparently  neither  disturbed  Valdobia  nor 
altered  his  attitude  toward  her.  His  analyses  of  politics 
and  of  the  fashionable  authors  of  the  day  were  the  acutest 
she  had  heard  or  read,  and  he  enlarged  her  knowledge  of 
the  world  by  his  anecdotes  of  life  in  the  different  capitals 
of  Europe  that  he  knew  so  well.  He  could  be  personal 
without  egotism,  and  his  sense  of  humour  was  keener  than 
her  own.  "While  he  treated  her  ideas  and  criticisms  with 
deference  he  forced  her  to  look  up  to  him  and  to  feel  only 
pleasure  in  his  masterful  mind  and  great  experience. 

Tonight  he  made  her  talk  about  herself;  and,  artfully 
beating  about  her  life's  most  significant  chapter,  she  ex 
pressed  herself  with  a  freedom  and  veracity  which  she 
found  another  novel  and  fascinating  experience;  her  con 
fidences  to  Ida  were  superficial  and  sporadic.  She  could 
feel  his  sympathy  and  understanding  flow  toward  her, 
although  he  uttered  no  sentimental  platitudes,  and  let 
only  his  eyes  express  a  little  of  what  he  felt.  But  for 
the  hour  she  glowed  with  a  sense  of  utter  companionship, 
her  mind  was  stimulated  to  the  pitch  of  excitement;  she 
caught  herself  wishing  that  they  could  have  these  long 
intimate  talks  for  the  rest  of  their  lives,  and  that  he  would 
sometimes  hold  her  hand  to  complete  the  sense  of  perfect 
understanding. 

When  they  parted  at  midnight  and  she  walked  slowly 
up  the  stairs  alone — Ida  had  dismissed  Mowbray  an  hour 
since — she  sighed  again.  Why  didn't  she  feel  the  pull? 
What  was  the  nature  of  that  mysterious  current  that 
seemed  to  vibrate  between  two  people  only  out  of  the  world  'a 
billions,  and  was  quite  independent  of  mental  identities? 
Certainly  passion  was  not  the  only  source.  If  she  had 
been  free  and  never  had  met  Gregory  Compton  she  would 
have  married  Valdobia  and  given  him  all  he  craved;  for 
his  magnetism  was  by  no  means  confined  to  his  brain.  Why 
could  not  she  love  him  as  it  was?  She  had  not  been  the 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     209 

heroine  of  one  of  those  passionate  love-affairs  that  leave 
a  woman  cold  for  several  years,  perhaps  for  ever.  The 
intensity  of  emotion  she  had  experienced  during  these 
months  in  Europe  had  been  one-sided,  a  mere  madness  of 
the  imagination.  She  had  yet  to  realise  that  a  woman  can 
live  more  profoundly  and  completely  with  a  man  in  her 
imagination  than  when  in  daily  contact  with  his  discourag 
ing  weaknesses,  his  inability  to  reach  her  impossible  stand 
ard,  and  impinged  upon  by  the  disintegrating  forces  of 
daily  life. 

Such  women  as  Ora  Blake,  endowed  with  a  certain  meas 
ure  of  creative  imagination,  yet  spending  their  maturing 
years  unnaturalised  citizens  in  a  cross-section  of  life  which 
barely  brushes  their  aloofness  in  passing,  develop  as  un- 
normally  as  those  that  cultivate  this  exotic  garden  of  the 
mind  for  fame  and  fortune.  If  they  find  a  mate  while  the 
imagination  is  still  as  young  as  their  years,  these  highly 
organised  women,  with  every  sense  and  faculty  keenly 
alert,  and  stimulated  by  mental  contact  as  others  may  be 
by  drugs  and  wine,  have  the  opportunity  at  least  to  be  the 
happiest  beings  on  earth.  If  they  marry  a  brute,  or  are 
forced  to  fight  the  world  for  bread,  a  wide  channel  is  dug 
in  the  brain  through  which  flow  the  normal  and  crowding 
thoughts  of  the  average,  commonplace,  adaptable  woman; 
which  is  perhaps  the  best  of  all  educations  for  life. 

But  Ora  had  married  a  kind  prosaic  man  who  soon 
learned  to  let  her  alone,  and  kept  her  in  a  comfort  that 
burdened  her  days  with  leisure.  If  she  had  been  un 
imaginative  no  harm  would  have  been  done.  She  either 
would  have  grown  fond  of  her  essential  husband  and  be 
come  a  domestic  angel,  or  consoled  herself  with  society  and 
bridge.  But,  misplaced  in  life,  she  belonged  to  the  intel 
lectual  aristocracy  of  the  earth,  who  are  the  loneliest  of 
its  inhabitants,  unless  they  can  establish  an  invisible  bond 
with  their  fellow-beings  by  offerings  from  that  mental 
garden  which  is  at  once  their  curse  and  their  compensation 
for  the  doubtful  gift  of  life. 

Ora  was  too  indifferent  to  the  world  to  care  to  weave 
this  gossamer  bridge,  and  had  grown  accustomed  to  mental 
solitude.  But  she  had  never  placed  any  curb  on  her  imagi 
nation.  In  the  days  when  her  only  solace  was  books  it 
enabled  her  to  visualise  the  mise-en-scene  of  the  remote  or 
immediate  past,  the  procession  of  the  traveller,  or  the  ab- 


210    PERCH   OF   THE    DEVIL' 

stractions  of  science;  as  if  she  were  in  one  of  those  the 
atres  where  the  great  modern  manager  threatens  to  atrophy 
what  imagination  is  left  in  the  world.  It  even  enabled  her 
to  enjoy  fiction  whose  scene  was  a  land  of  which  she  had 
no  personal  knowledge ;  a  rare  gift  in  the  American,  whose 
demand  for  familiar  settings  and  characters  keeps  our 
literature  commonplace.  And  she  could  at  will  shut  her 
eyes  and  wander  in  Europe  when  Butte  became  insuffer 
able. 

Her  surrender  to  the  obsession  of  Gregory  Compton  had 
been  gradual;  she  had  fought  it,  not  only  out  of  loyalty 
to  her  husband  and  her  friend,  but  because  the  future 
menaced  terrors  against  which  she  had  no  desire  to  pit 
her  strength.  But  she  had  finally  cast  defiance  to  the 
future,  and  dismissed  her  phantom  loyalty  with  a  shrug. 
Mark  no  doubt  had  consoled  himself  for  her  defection 
long  since ;  to  Ida  a  husband  was  a  money-maker  pure  and 
simple.  She  herself  would  never  see  Gregory  Compton 
again  if  she  could  avoid  it;  or,  if  life  took  her  inevitably 
back  to  Butte,  no  doubt  her  infatuation  would  have  been 
cured  by  mental  satiety,  and  she  would  be  able  to  greet  him 
with  the  indifference  that  is  ever  the  portion  of  the  dis 
carded  lover. 

Having  arrived  at  this  reasonable  conclusion,  she  had 
dismissed  cynicism,  cowardice,  and  qualms,  to  limbo,  and 
entered  upon  one  of  those  exalting,  tormenting,  incredibly 
sweet,  and  profoundly  depressing  mental  love  affairs, 
which,  lacking  the  element  of  comedy  inevitable  in  all 
actual  relations  between  men  and  women,  obsess  the  mind 
and  detach  it  from  life. 

After  she  parted  from  Valdobia,  puzzled  and  wistful, 
she  recalled  one  week  during  which  she  had  been  com 
pletely  happy.  Ida  was  visiting  friends  uncongenial  to 
herself,  and  she  had  gone  alone  to  Bruges.  In  that  ancient 
city  of  almost  perfect  beauty,  she  had  given  the  wildness 
in  her  nature  uninterrupted  liberty.  She  had  written 
letters  that  no  woman  yet  has  sent  to  a  man  without  re 
gretting  it,  for  in  this  stage  of  man's  progress,  at  least, 
he  wants  little  of  the  soul  of  woman.  It  is  possible  that 
the  women  who  live  in  their  imaginations  are  the  most 
fortunate,  after  all,  for  they  arbitrarily  make  man  the 
perfect  mate  he  possibly  may  be  some  centuries  hence.  At 
all  events  Ora  imagined  Gregory  Compton  with  her  un- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     211 

remittingly,  deliberately  ignoring  the  depression  that  must 
descend  upon  her  when  once  more  companioned  by  his  wile. 
It  had  seemed  to  her  that  her  step  had  never  been  so 
buoyant,  her  body  so  light.  People  had  paused  to  stare 
at  the  beautiful  young  American  with  her  head  in  the  air 
looking  as  if  she  were  about  to  sing.  It  had  been  a  won 
derful,  an  almost  incredible  experience,  and  she  never  had 
been  able  quite  to  recapture  it  even  when  alone  m  the 
night  But  she  had  wondered  sometimes  if  life  held  any 
happiness  as  real  as  that  had  been,  and  she  wondered 
again  as  she  switched  off  her  light  and  flung  herself  into 
the  bed  that  had  witnessed  so  much  despair  before  Vai- 
dobia  had  appeared  and  put  a  quietus  on  her  imagination. 
She  wondered  also  if  the  passion  of  the  soul  were  so  much 
greater  than  the  common  experience  of  man  and  woman 
that  its  indulgence  must  forever  make  life  itself  unreal. 
She  felt  that  this  question  threw  some  light  on  her  prob 
lem  then  dismissed  the  subject  peremptorily.  She  might 
regret  that  extraordinary  love  affair,  with  its  terrors  and 
its  delights,  but  she  would  bury  it  once  for  all;  and  she 
fell  asleep  with  the  wise  remark: 

"What  fools  we  are!     Oh,  lord,  what  tools! 


XXXVI 

A  FTER  this  she  discarded  what  was  left  of  her  crust, 
'**'  and  emerged  like  a  butterfly.  The  present  was  de 
lightful,  she  would  enjoy  it  without  analysis  or  retrospect. 
She  met  several  clever  and  interesting  men,  but  had  eyes 
for  no  one  but  Valdobia.  They  explored  Genoa  until  they 
knew  it  almost  as  well  as  the  natives,  spending  hours  down 
in  the  long  twisted  streets,  so  narrow  that  no  vehicle  had 
ever  visited  them,  and  swarming  like  the  inside  of  an  ant 
hill.  Harrowing  adventures  were  impossible,  for  the 
Genoese  masses  if  discourteous  are  neither  a  lawless  nor 
an  impertinent  race.  Ora  and  Ida  might  have  roamed 
alone,  and  been  unmolested  save  by  the  enterprising  shop 
keepers  that  dealt  in  filigree.  They  rode  over  the  steep 
hills  in  the  trams,  and  took  long  motor  drives  in  the  bril 
liant  winter  sunshine  to  the  picturesque  towns  and  vil 
lages  down  the  Biviera.  Then,  on  a  Saturday  morning, 
they  bade  good-bye  to  the  ancient  city  and  took  the  train* 
for  Monte  Carlo. 

The  girls  established  themselves  in  a  small  hotel  opposite 
the  Casino  Gardens,  the  men  in  the  great  hotel  that  lies 
between  the  Casino  and  the  International  Sporting  Club. 

' '  I  suppose  we  really  should  have  sent  for  Lady  Gower, ' ' 
said  Ora,  doubtfully,  as  they  hooked  each  other  up  for 
dinner.  "It's  stretching  the  point  rather  to  come  to  a 
place  like  Monte  Carlo  with  two  men.  We'll  be  sure  to 
run  into  a  dozen  people  we  know." 

' '  Oh,  bother !  I  love  the  idea  of  feeling  real  devilish  for 
once.  Besides,  anything  goes  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  every 
body  is  interested  in  gambling  and  nothing  else.  What 
good  would  old  Norfolk-Howard  do  us,  anyhow,  asleep  on 
a  sofa.  She  never  could  keep  awake  after  ten,  and  no 
body 'd  know  in  those  big  rooms  whether  she  was  there  or 
not.  We're  Americans,  anyhow,  and  I'm  having  the  time 
of  my  life.  Lord  John  is  a  perfect  dear. ' ' 

212 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     213 

"Well,  at  least  I  am  thankful  that  you  are  no  longer  in 
a  hurry  to  return  to  Butte." 

"Butte'll  keep,  I  guess.  The  more  experiences  I  take 
back  the  more  they'll  think  of  me.  Gives  me  backbone  to 
feel  a  real  woman-of- the- world.  Besides,  kid,  it's  good  phi 
losophy  to  drink  the  passing  moment  dry.  Amalgamated 
may  bust  us  any  minute.  You  look  prettier  every  day, 
and  I'm  not  going  off  either." 

She  wore  a  severely  cut  gown  of  black  velvet,  the  corsage 
draped  with  coral-coloured  chiffon.  Her  first  evening 
gowns,  cut  by  the  ruthless  Parisian,  had  caused  her  many 
qualms,  but  they  had  been  growing  more  decollete  ever 
since ;  and  so  superb  were  her  neck  and  shoulders  that  she 
had  ceased  to  regret  her  lack  of  jewels.  Ora  had  refrained 
from  buying  any,  although  she  longed  for  sapphires;  but 
she  always  wore  her  pearls.  Tonight  her  gown  was  of  a 
misty  pale  green  material  from  which  she  rose  like  a  lily 
from  its  calyx.  She  still  wore  her  hair  massed  softly  on 
the  top  of  her  head,  and  although  not  as  tall  as  Ida,  and 
far  from  being  as  fully  developed,  was  an  equally  arresting 
figure.  No  two  women  were  ever  more  excellent  foils,  and 
that  may  have  been  one  secret  of  their  amicable  relations. 

They  dined  with  their  cavaliers  at  one  of  the  fashionable 
restaurants,  then,  after  an  hour  in  the  Casino  rooms,  which 
were  not  at  all  to  their  taste,  with  their  ornate  walls  and 
dingy  crowd,  went  by  means  of  lifts  and  underground 
corridors  over  to  the  International  Sporting  Club.  Val- 
dobia  and  Mowbray  had  put  them  up  at  this  exclusive 
resort  during  the  afternoon  and  they  entered  the  roulette 
rooms  at  once.  Here  the  walls  were  chastely  hung  with 
pale  grey  satin,  and  all  the  colour  was  in  the  company. 
The  long  tables  were  crowded  with  smart-looking  men  and 
women  of  both  worlds,  although  only  the  ladies  that  had 
stepped  down  from  ancestral  halls  dared  to  show  a  grey 
hair  or  a  wrinkle.  The  cocottes  were  so  young  and  fresh 
as  well  as  beautiful  that  to  Ora  and  Ida  they  looked  much 
like  girls  of  their  own  class.  All,  young  and  old,  were 
splendidly  dressed  and  bejewelled;  and  if  there  was  ex 
citement  in  their  brains  there  was  no  evidence  of  it  in 
their  calm  or  animated  faces.  They  might  have  been  a 
great  house-party  amusing  themselves  with  some  new  and 
innocuous  game. 

Our  party  walked  about  for  a  time  dividing  their  atten- 


214     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

tion  between  the  spinning  balls,  the  faces  of  the  players, 
and  the  gowns  of  the  women;  even  those  of  the  cocottes 
were  not  eccentric,  although  worn  with  a  certain  inimitable 
style.  Their  ropes  of  pearls  were  also  the  longest  in  the 
room.  A  number  of  the  most  notable  men  in  Europe 
were  present,  princes  of  reigning  houses,  and  statesmen 
high  in  the  service  of  their  country. 

In  spite  of  the  absence  of  that  feverish  excitement  which 
is  supposed  to  pervade  these  gambling  rooms  of  Monte 
Carlo  (and  which  is  absent  from  the  Casino  even  when  a 
man  shoots  himself  and  is  whisked  out),  Ora  wandered 
about  in  a  curious  state  of  exaltation.  The  cool  splendour 
of  the  rooms,  the  atmosphere  of  high  breeding  and  re 
straint,  the  gratification  of  the  aesthetic  sense  at  every  turn, 
the  beauty  of  the  women  and  the  distinguished  appearance 
of  the  men  made  it  a  romantic  and  memorable  scene.  Not 
withstanding  the  constant  clink  of  gold,  the  monotonous 
admonitions  of  the  croupiers,  it  was  a  sort  of  worldly  fairy 
land,  this  apotheosis  of  one  of  the  most  perilous  of  human 
indulgences.  These  people  might  be  gambling  for  greed 
or  mere  excitement,  being  blase  of  other  mundane  diver 
sions,  but  they  were  at  the  same  time  so  frank  and  so  re 
served,  so  pleased  and  so  indifferent,  that  they  produced 
the  illusion  of  sojourning  on  a  plane  high  above  the  com 
mon  mortal  with  his  commonplace  loves  and  disasters  and 
struggles  to  exist  or  shine.  No  wonder  that  men  came 
here  to  forget  the  burdens  of  state,  women  Society's  con 
servatisms  or  the  inconstancy  of  man.  For  the  hour,  and 
the  hour  generally  lasted  until  four  in  the  morning,  they 
lived  in  a  world  apart,  and  a  duchess  sat  next  to  a  cocotte 
with  a  serene  indifference  that  amounted  almost  to 
democracy. 

"I  don't  know  that  romantic  is  the  word  I  should  use," 
said  Yaldobia,  laughing;  Ora  had  uttered  some  of  her 
thoughts  aloud ;  "but  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean.  The 
people  that  come  here  can  afford  to  lose;  their  minds  are 
almost  as  carefully  composed  as  their  costumes;  they  are 
both  pleasantly  reckless  and  frivolous;  this  is  their  real 
play-time ;  the  world  beyond  these  four  walls  is  obliterated ; 
if  they  lose  they  shrug  their  shoulders,  and  if  they  win 
they  experience  something  like  a  real  thrill ;  in  short,  being 
soaked  in  worldliness,  it  is  their  only  chance  to  feel  primi 
tive — for  gambling  was  practised  by  the  most  ancient 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     215 

tribes  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge.  At  the  Casino 
most  of  those  people  are  subconsciously  wondering  how 
they  are  going  to  pay  their  hotel  bills  and  get  out  of 
Monte  Carlo,  calm  as  they  manage  to  look ;  but  here— well, 
here  you  see  the  quintessence  of  the  world's  frivolity.  No 
wonder  it  creates  a  heady  atmosphere.  Do  you  want  to 
gamble?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"Well,  put  a  lords  on  the  red.  I'll  follow  your  stakes* 
Perhaps  we'll  bring  each  other  luck." 

They  staked  and  won,  staked  and  won  again,  seven 
times  running  without  removing  their  winnings  from  the 
red.  Then  Valdobia  said,  "Don't  tempt  fortune  too  far. 
The  luck  may  turn  to  the  green  any  moment.  Suppose 
we  try  ours  en  plein."  He  selected  the  number  39,  and 
once  more  they  won.  Ora,  her  hands  full  of  gold,  turned 
to  him  with  blazing  eyes.  Her  cheeks  were  crimson.  Val 
dobia  laughed. 

"You  mustn't  look  so  happy,"  he  said  teasingly, 
"or  these  old  stagers  will  know  that  you  are  what  your 
friend  calls  a  hayseed.  Better  change  all  this  gold  into 
notes." 

"Notes?  I  want  my  gold.  Paper  never  did  mean  any 
thing  to  me." 

"What  a  child  you  are— ah!     I  must  leave  you  for  a 

moment.     The  Due "  he  mentioned   a  prince  of  his 

royal  house — "wishes  to  speak  to  me.  Don't  try  en  plein 
again.  That  rarely  happens  twice.  Put  a  louis  at  a  time 
on  the  red." 

He  left  her.  Ora  deliberately  placed  not  only  her  double 
handful  of  gold  on  the  red,  but  pushed  forward  the  pile 
that  had  accumulated  before  her.  Red  came  up  and 
doubled  her  winnings.  She  added  to  her  already  imposing 
hillock  the  gold  shoved  toward  her,  and,  with  ^  a  quick 
glance  at  Valdobia,  who  was  deep  in  conversation  with 
his  prince,  took  a  thousand  franc  note  from  her  chatelaine 
bag  and  laid  it  on  top  of  the  gold.  Once  more  she  won, 
and  met  the  sympathetic  smiles  of  the  croupiers,  who  in 
the  Sporting  Club,  at  least,  are  very  human  persons.  She 
was  about  to  add  another  thousand  franc  note,  when  Val 
dobia  returned.  He  swept  her  gold  and  notes  off  the  red 
just  as  rien  ne  va  plus  sounded  above  the  buzz  of  con 
versation  behind  the  tables. 


216     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing?"  he  asked  angrily.  "I 
don't  like  to  see  a  woman  gamble  like  that." 

Ora  pouted  and  looked  like  a  naughty  child. 

"But  I  want  to  gamble.  Give  me  my  money.  What 
have  you  to  say  about  it  ? " 

"I  brought  you  here — and  I  shall  not  bring  you  again 
if  you  are  going  to  gamble  like  that  old  Frankfurt  banker 
over  there.  Why  not  follow  the  example  of  Mrs.  Compton, 
who  is  decorously  putting  five  franc  pieces  on  the  green 
at  the  next  table?" 

"Oh,  Ida!  I  like  the  sensation  of  doing  big  things. 
You  just  said  we  enjoyed  letting  loose  our  primitive  in 
stincts.  ' ' 

"Is  that  the  way  you  felt?  Well,  here  are  three  louis. 
Stake  one  at  a  time.  I  shall  change  the  rest  into  notes 
and  give  them  to  you  at  the  hotel." 

He  kept  his  eye  on  her,  and  she  staked  her  gold  pieces  one 
after  another  and  lost. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "come  into  the  bar  and  have  a  glass  of 
wine  or  a  lemon  squash.  I  want  to  talk  to  you. ' ' 

They  found  seats  in  a  corner  of  the  bar  behind  a  little 
table,  and  Ora  demurely  ordered  a  lemonade.  ' '  I  suppose 
you  are  going  to  scold  me,"  she  murmured,  although  her 
cheeks  were  still  flushed  and  her  eyes  rebellious.  "What 
difference  did  it  make?  I  am  not  poor,  and  I  had  won 
nearly  all  that  I  risked,  anyhow.  You  have  seen  women 
gamble  all  your  life.  One  would  think  that  you  were  a 
hayseed,  yourself." 

"Shall  I  be  quite  honest?  I  fancy  I  was  jealous.  For 
the  first  time  I  saw  you  completely  carried  away.  I  had 
hoped  to  furnish  that  impulse  myself ! ' ' 

"It  is  a  wonderful  sensation,"  she  said  provokingly. 
' '  I  doubt  if  anything  but  gambling  could  inspire  it. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  ? ' '  But  he  knew  that  it  was  no  time  for  senti 
ment,  and  asked  curiously,  "Are  you  so  fond  of  gold?  I 
never  saw  such  a  greedy  little  thing." 

"Remember  I've  walked  round  over  gold  for  the  best 
part  of  my  life,  and  have  a  mine  of  my  own.  It  fascinates 
me,  but  not  because  I  care  much  about  riches — I  like  the 
liberty  that  plenty  of  money  gives ;  that,  to  my  mind,  is  all 
that  wealth  means.  But  I  loved  the  feeling  of  being  pos 
sessed,  of  being  absolutely  reckless.  I  should  have  liked 
to  know  that  my  whole  fortune  depended  upon  that  spin- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     217 

ning  ball.    That  would  have  been  worth  while !    It  makes 
one  forget  everything — everything!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  half-closed  eyes.  "You  have  a 
secret  chapter  in  your  life,"  he  said.  "Some  day  I  shall 
read  it.  But  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  whether  you  are  a 
born  gambler  or  not." 

Ora  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "To  tell  you  the  truth  I 
shouldn't  care  if  I  never  saw  a  gambling  table  again.  I 
have  had  the  sensation.  That  is  enough.  I  will  admit  I 
was  rather  disappointed  not  to  lose  that  immense  stake. 
Lucky  at  cards,  you  know." 

"And  you  think  you  are  unlucky  in  love?"  Valdobia 
laughed,  but  his  face  was  still  grim.  "How  many  men 
have  you  had  in  love  with  you  already?" 

"That  doesn't  count!" 

He  turned  pale.    "What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  that  I  don't  believe  I  am  destined  to  happiness. 
Don't  you  think  we  know  our  lines  instinctively?" 

"I  know  that  you  are  trying  to  torment  me.  You  are 
still  excited  and  angry,  so  I  shall  not  permit  your  words, 
significant  as  they  are,  to  keep  me  awake  tonight."  He 
was  smiling  again,  but  she  saw  the  anger  in  his  own  eyes, 
and  said  impulsively : 

"I  rather  like  you  better  than  usual  tonight.  You  have 
made  me  do  something  I  didn't  want  to  do,  and  anger  is 
becoming  to  you." 

"The  eternal  female!  Well,  God  knows,  I  wouldn't 
have  you  abnormal.  What  is  this?" 

A  page  was  standing  before  the  table  with  a  telegram  in 
his  hand.  "Pour  M.  le  Marquis  de  Valdobia,"  he  said. 

With  a  word  of  apology  Valdobia  opened  the  telegram. 
Ora,  watching  him,  saw  his  face  turn  white. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "I  do  hope  it  is 
not  bad  news."  She  felt  a  sharp  pang  at  the  possibility 
of  losing  him. 

He  rose  and  looked  at  his  watch.  "My  mother  is  very 
ill,"  he  said.  "A  train  goes  in  an  hour  and  ten  minutes. 
I  must  take  it.  But  there  is  something  I  want  to  say  to  you 
before  I  go;  I  may  be  detained  in  Eome.  Will  you  get 
your  wrap  and  come  into  the  gardens  for  a  few  moments  ? ' ' 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  murmured  Ora,  with  real  sympathy. 
" Of  course  I  will  go." 

He  took  her  to  the  cloak-room.     "Wait  here  for  a  mo- 


218    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

ment,"  lie  said.  "I  must  telephone  to  my  man  to  pack  and 
meet  me  at  the  train ;  and  tell  Mowbray  not  to  look  for  us 
later." 

He  left  her,  and  Ora  watched  the  passing  couples,  trying 
not  to  think.  She  was  a  little  frightened,  but  still  too 
excited  to  shrink  from  a  possible  ordeal. 


XXXVII 

I-J  E  returned  in  a  few  moments,  and  they  left  the  Club 
1  •*•  House  by  the  main  entrance  and  strolled  toward 
the  gardens;  then  he  suddenly  led  her  to  the  terrace. 
There  were  many  people  walking  in  the  tropical  scented 
park  of  the  Casino,  but  the  digue  above  the  Mediterranean 
was  deserted.  Monte  Carlo  can  be  cold  in  May  but  it  can 
be  as  warm  as  July  in  February,  and  the  night  was  mild 
and  beautiful.  The  sea  under  the  stars  was  almost  as 
blue  as  by  day.  The  air  was  very  still,  although  a  band 
was  playing  somewhere,  far  away.  From  the  other  side 
of  the  bay  came  the  faint  humming  of  an  aeroplane.  There 
was  to  be  an  aviation  meet  on  the  morrow,  and  no  doubt 
one  of  the  airmen  was  about  to  make  a  trial  flight. 

They  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches,  and  Valdobia 
folded  his  arms,  then  turned  and  leaned  his  elbow  on  the 
back  of  the  seat  and  his  head  on  his  hand. 

' '  I  am  not  quite  in  the  mood  for  love-making, ' '  he  said, 
"after  the  news  I  have  received;  but  I  can't  go  without 
letting  you  know  why  I  followed  you  to  Genoa— without 
some  sort  of  an  understanding." 

Ora  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye.  His 
face  was  set  and  determined,  but  she  concluded  that  he 
was  not  the  man  to  be  dangerous  when  grieving  for  his 
mother. 

' '  What  is  it  ? "  she  asked  softly.  ' '  I  know,  of  course,  that 
you — like  me." 

"I  love  you,  and  I  want  to  marry  you.  I  wish  you  to 
divorce  your  husband  and  marry  me.  Don 't  give  me  your 
final  answer  now,"  he  continued,  as  Ora  interrupted  him. 
"It  is  not  a  question  to  decide  in  a  moment.  But  while  I 
am  gone  think  it  over.  You  do  not  love  your  husband. 
I  know  all  your  arguments  from  your  friend.  She  made 
them  when  I  first  gave  her  my  confidence.  They  don't 
weigh  with  me  for  a  moment.  You  will  never  spend  your 
life  with  that  man,  good  as  he  may  be.  As  for  obliga- 

219 


220    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

tions,  you  discharged  them  long  ago.  I  can  make  you 
happy,  and  I  believe  that  you  know  I  can." 

"I  don't  know."  Ora,  stunned  for  a  moment,  felt 
thrilled  and  breathless.  "Oh,  I  don't  know!" 

"I  have  begun  to  feel  sure  that  you  have  loved  another 
man,  or  fancied  that  you  loved  him.  Would  it  be  possible 
for  you  to  marry  him  if  you  divorced  your  husband?" 

Ora  hesitated,  then  answered,  "No." 

5 '  Why  is  he  not  your  lover  ? ' ' 

"That  would  be  impossible,  even  if  I  would  do  such  a 
thing,  and  you  know  I  would  not." 

He  gave  a  sharp  sigh  of  relief.  "I  felt  that  he  had  not 
been.  Why  is  it  impossible?" 

"There  are  complications.  I  cannot  explain  them.  But 
he  could  not  be  less  to  me  if  he  were  dead." 

''Does  he  love  you?" 

Ora  hesitated  again.  "I  have  sometimes  felt — no,  of 
course,  it  is  impossible.  I  let  my  imagination  run  away 
with  me,  that  was  all." 

"You  mean  that  he  never  told  you — that  he  doesn't 
write  to  you?" 

"I  met  him  only  once,  and  I  have  never  seen  his  hand 
writing.  ' ' 

"Well,  dismiss  him  from  your  mind.  You  have  imagina 
tion  and  have  dreamed,  because  your  demands  upon  life 
are  very  great,  greater  than  you  know ;  and  oddly  enough, 
considering  your  opportunities,  fruition  has  eluded  you. 
But  the  time  has  come  for  you  to  live;  and  you  could 
live!" 

Ora  looked  down  at  her  hands.  They  were  ungloved 
and  looked  very  white  and  small.  Valdobia  suddenly  cov 
ered  them  with  one  of  his  own,  and  bent  his  face  close  to 
hers.  She  saw  that  he  had  forgotten  his  mother,  and  gave 
a  little  gasp. 

"Ora!"  he  said.  "Don't  you  know  how  happy  I  could 
make  you  ?  I  not  only  could  teach  you  love,  of  which  you 
know  nothing,  but  we  could  always  be  companions,  and 
you  are  the  loneliest  little  creature  I  have  ever  met." 

To  her  astonishment  she  saw  two  tears  splash  on  his 
hand,  and  winking  rapidly  discovered  that  they  had  fallen 
from  her  own  eyes.  As  she  would  have  detested  to  see  a 
man  cry,  she  melted  further,  and  whispered, 

"Oh,  yes,  life  with  you  would  be  very  delightful.     I 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     221 

know  that.  I  fancy  the  other  man,  even  if  I  could  marry 
him,  would  make  me  miserable.  He — American  men  that 
amount  to  anything  give  their  wives  very  little  of  them 
selves/' 

"And  you  would  be  lonelier  still!  I  have  known  Ameri 
can  women  that  loved  their  busy  husbands— that  seeking 
type.  They  interested  me,  poor  things— rushing  madly 
about^  trying  to  fill  their  lives.  If  you  join  that  sister 
hood  it  will  kill  you.  I  am  not  an  idler,  for  I  have  business 
interests  to  which  I  devote  a  certain  amount  of  time,  but 
I  have  leisure,  and  I  not  only  should  give  you  the  com 
panionship  you  have  craved  all  your  life,  but  I  can  offer 
you  the  world  in  all  its  variety.  Now  dismiss  this  man, 
whoever  he  is,  from  your  mind.  Even  were  I  beside  the 
question,  it  is  your  duty  to  yourself  as  a  woman  of  char 
acter,  not  a  sentimental  schoolgirl  " 
"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"That  sort  of  thing  is  morbid,  besides  being  quite  be 
neath  a  woman  of  pride  and  dignity.  But  women  often 
romance  about  some  dream-hero  until  they  have  found  the 
right  man.  Can  you  doubt  that  I  am  the  man  for  you? 
You  were  made  for  Europe,  not  for  America,  and  for  a 
man  that  can  give  you  everything— everything !" 

"Yes,  I  know."  She  moved  restlessly.  "If  I  could 
only  feel  just  _  one  thing  more  for  you!  I  hardly  know 
what  to  call  it — I  like  you  better  than  anyone  in  the 
world.  I  almost  love  you.  Why  don't  I?"  Her  voice  was 
suddenly  full  of  passion  and  she  clasped  both  of  her  hands 
about  his  own.  "If  you  could  only  make  me,  I  should 
worship  you." 

He  glanced  about  rapidly.  They  were  quite  alone.  He 
put  his  arm  round  her  and  she  felt  it  vibrate  His  face 
was  flushed  and  his  breath  short.  She  could  feel  his  heart 
thumping  against  her  head,  and  she  was  fascinated  for 
more  reasons  than  one :  she  knew  that  it  was  many  years 
since  any  woman  had  roused  him  to  strong  emotion,  and 
it  was  the  first  great  passion  that  had  ever  been  close  to 
her  save  in  her  stormy  imagination.  She  was  enthralled 
ior  a  moment,  and  some  of  the  wildness  in  her  own  nature 
stirred.  But  it  was  too  soon,  she  must  have  time  to  think 
Bne  cast  about  desperately  and  found  her  inspiration. 

«<v  We  ^ave  been  here  a  long  time!"  she  said  hurriedly 
You  will  miss  your  train.    Your  mother  may  be  very  ill. " 


222     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

He  dropped  his  arm,  and  stood  up. 

*  *  You  are  a  woman  of  infinite  resource, ' '  he  said.  * '  And 
no  little  cruelty.  Will  you  consider  what  I  have  asked 
you — seriously  ? ' ' 

His  anger  as  well  as  his  power  to  control  himself  always 
fascinated  her,  and  she  also  experienced  a  spasm  of  con 
trition.  She  rose  and  gave  him  her  hand;  her  eyes  were 
frank  and  kind. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  will  consider  it,  and  think  of  you 
always — and  miss  you  horribly.  Will  you  telegraph  to 
me  every  day?" 

"Two  or  three  times  a  day,  probably.  And  don't  think 
I  am  really  angry  with  you.  If  you  are  cruel  it  is  only 
because  you  don 't  understand.  I  am  glad  that  you  do  not, 
for  it  is  only  women  that  have  loved  greatly  that  have 
forgotten  how  to  be  cruel.  Come.  I  must  take  you  to 
your  hotel." 


PART  II 


PART  II 


TWO  weeks  later  Ora  and  Ida  sailed  from  Havre.  Greg 
ory  had  cabled,  and  the  Herald  had  published  a 
dramatic  account,  of  the  wounding  of  Mr.  Mark  Blake  in 
the  tunnel  of  his  wife's  mine.  The  engineers'  lease  had 
expired  and  he  had  closed  down  the  mine  temporarily. 
The  sinking  of  the  inclined  shaft  in  the  "Apex"  had  pro 
ceeded  very  slowly  owing  to  the  uncommon  hardness  of  the 
rock ;  it  would  seem  that  Nature  herself  had  taken  a  hand 
in  the  great  fight  and  enlisted  for  once  on  the  side  of  the 
weaker  power.  Although  when  Osborne  and  Douglas  had 
turned  over  the  mine,  their  cross-cut  almost  had  reached 
the  point  on  the  vein  which  the  new  shaft  expected  to 
strike,  Gregory  had  risen  twice  in  the  night  and  walked 
along  the  hill  beyond  his  boundary,  reasonably  sure  that 
all  the  blasting  was  not  in  the  shaft,  his  keen  ear  detecting 
muffled  reverberations  slightly  to  the  east  and  at  a  greater 
depth.  He  communicated  his  suspicions  to  Mark,  and 
on  the  following  night  they  examined  the  lock  on  the 
Primo  shaft  house  and  discovered  that  it  had  been  tam 
pered  with.  They  went  down  by  way  of  the  ladder ;  and 
in  the  cross-cut  on  the  chalcopyrite  vein  they  found  min 
ers  working  with  hand  drills.  There  was  a  desperate 
hand-to-hand  fight  with  the  manager  and  shift  boss ;  the 
miners,  who  were  bohunks,  proceeding  phlegmatically  with 
their  work. 

The  four  men  had  wrestled  out  into  the  station  at  the 
foot  of  the  shaft,  where  they  had  drawn  their  "guns"; 
each  had  been  wounded,  but  only  Mark  seriously.  He  had 
received  a  ball  in  the  lung  and  another  in  the  leg.  The 
night  was  bitterly  cold  and  it  was  some  time  before  Gregory 
and  the  two  antagonists  could  get  him  to  the  surface.  He 
had  insisted  upon  being  taken  to  a  hospital  in  Butte ;  and, 

225 


226     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

between  loss  of  blood,  shock,  and  pneumonia,  his  condition 
was  precarious. 

The  girls,  who  had  left  Monte  Carlo  two  days  after 
Valdobia's  sudden  departure,  received  the  news  in  Paris, 
where  they  were  replenishing  their  wardrobes.  Ora,  torn 
with  remorse,  and  terrified  with  vague  and  tragic  visions 
of  the  future,  was  in  a  distracted  condition;  but  Ida,  al 
though  she  sincerely  lamented  the  possible  demise  of  her 
old  friend,  did  not  lose  her  head.  She  gave  final  and 
minute  orders  to  tailors  and  dressmakers,  instructed  them 
to  send  the  trousseaux  in  bond  directly  to  Great  Falls,  Mon 
tana,  devoted  a  morning  to  the  selection  of  hats  both  for 
herself  and  her  friend,  and  packed  all  the  trunks.  Mow- 
bray,  always  willing  to  be  useful,  bought  their  tickets  and 
escorted  them  to  Havre.  Ida  thanked  him  with  something 
like  real  warmth  as  they  parted  at  the  head  of  the  gang 
plank,  and  promised  him  the  "time  of  his  life"  when  he 
came  to  Montana  in  the  summer. 

"Now,  buck  up,"  she  said,  smiling  into  his  disconso 
late  face;  "you  know  I'm  not  flirting  with  you.  We're 
the  best  of  pals.  I'll  be  glad  to  see  you,  all  right,  and 
perhaps  I'll  find  a  nice  little  heiress  for  you." 

"Oh,  don't!"  Mowbray  tried  to  arrange  his  features 
for  the  benefit  of  the  passersby.  "You  know  I'm  fond 
of  you  no  end.  Why " 

"  Get  along  now.  That 's  the  last  whistle.  Good-bye,  and 
write  me  nice  gossippy  letters.  It's  only  a  few  months, 
anyhow. ' ' 

Mowbray  walked  down  the  gangplank  with  his  head  in 
the  air,  and,  as  he  turned  on  the  dock  to  lift  his  hat,  Ida 
noticed  that  his  face,  whose  charm  wag  its  boyish  gayety, 
looked  suddenly  older,  and  almost  as  determined  as  Valdo- 
bia  's. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  she  thought,  as  she  turned  away,  "men! 
They're  as  alike  as  lead  pencils  in  a  box.  But  I  guess  I 
can  manage  him." 

Ora  stayed  in  bed  for  two  days ;  reaction  left  her  physi 
cally  exhausted  and  she  slept  most  of  the  time.  On  the 
third  day  Ida  peremptorily  dressed  her  and  took  her  on 
deck.  A  wireless  from  Gregory,  announcing  that  Mark 
was  holding  his  own,  further  revived  her,  and  before  they 
reached  New  York  another  wireless  was  still  more  reassur 
ing.  A  few  years  before,  when  the  ores  of  Butte  Hill  were 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL    227 

roasted  in  the  open  and  the  poisonous  fumes  were  often 
as  thick  as  the  worst  of  London  fogs,  pneumonia  ran  its 
course  in  twenty-four  hours  to  the  grave,  but  in  these  days 
the  patient  had  a  fighting  chance  despite  the  altitude.  The 
Butte  doctors  were  experts  in  pneumonia,  so  many  of  the 
careless  miners  were  afflicted,  and  Mark  not  only  had  a 
sound  constitution  but  never  had  been  a  heavy  drinker. 
There  was  every  reason  to  expect  him  to  pull  through,  as 
Ida  assured  her  friend  whenever  they  were  alone ;  but  she 
managed  to  meet  several  agreeable  people,  and  kept  herself 
and  Ora  companioned  by  them  throughout  the  voyage. 

Valdobia  was  still  iq  Rome;  his  mother  was  dying.  He 
had  written  daily  to  Ora  and  she  had  read  and  reread 
his  letters.  They  said  neither  too  much  nor  too  little ;  but 
he  was  one  of  life's  artists  and  he  managed  to  pervade 
them  with  an  atmosphere  that  was  both  sweet  and  disturb 
ing.  His  telegram,  when  he  had  read  the  news  of  her 
husband's  misadventure  in  the  newspapers,  was  a  master 
piece.  If  he  was  unable  to  grieve  over  the  possibility  of 
Mr.  Blake's  abrupt  removal  from  a  scene  where  he  was 
the  one  superfluous  actor,  too  well-bred  to  betray  his  relief, 
and  too  little  of  a  hypocrite  to  be  verbose  in  condolence, 
his  attitude  was  so  finely  impersonal,  and  it  was  so  obvi 
ous  that  he  knew  exactly  how  she  felt,  that  Ora  liked  him 
more  than  ever  if  only  for  rousing  her  stricken  sense  of 
humour. 

She  had  thrust  his  letters  and  telegrams  into  the  depths 
of  her  steamer  trunk,  but  after  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
that  Mark  would  recover  (her  lively  imagination  picturing 
him  hobbling  among  the  orange  groves  of  Southern  Cali 
fornia  while  she  guided  his  footsteps  and  diverted  his 
mind),  she  retrieved  the  correspondence  and  read  it  every 
night  when  alone  in  her  stateroom.  Valdobia 's  devotion 
not  only  gave  her  courage,  but  his  strong  imposing  per 
sonality  stood  with  a  haughty  and  confident  menace  be 
tween  herself  and  Gregory  Compton.  She  refused  to 
think  on  her  future,  beyond  the  long  convalescence  of  her 
husband,  but  had  it  not  been  for  her  meeting  with  Valdo 
bia  and  her  deliberate  installment  of  his  image  on  the 
throne  of  her  adventurous  imagination,  she  doubted  if  she 
would  have  had  the  courage  to  return  to  Montana.  As  it 
was  there  were  moments  when  the  poignant  mental  life  she 
had  led  with  Gregory  Compton  reached  a  long  finger  from 


228    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

the  depths  to  which  it  had  been  consigned  and  sketched 
his  image  in  her  mind  as  vividly  as  if  he  stood  before  her ; 
while  her  whole  being  ached  with  longing  and  despair. 
But  her  will  was  strong;  she  banished  him  summarily 
and  reinstated  the  Eoman  who  was  so  like  and  so  unlike  the 
man  compounded  of  the  old  world  and  the  new  in  the 
mortar  of  the  Northwest. 

Ida,  with  an  unexpected  delicacy,  refrained  from  curios 
ity,  and  although  she  had  too  much  tact  to  avoid  all  men 
tion  of  Valdobia,  only  alluded  to  him  casually.  She  left 
Europe  out  of  the  conversation  as  much  as  possible,  and 
amused  Ora,  when  they  were  alone,  with  the  plans  of  her 
campaign  in  Butte.  When  they  reached  quarantine  Ora 
was  horrified  to  find  herself  surrounded  by  reporters.  The 
Paris  Herald  had  published  the  story  of  her  mine  as  well 
as  her  picture  and  Ida 's,  but  they  hardly  had  been  sensible 
of  their  notoriety  until,  on  the  steamer,  they  were  among 
Americans  once  more.  It  was  manifest  that  they  were 
"big  news"  in  their  own  country,  and  Ora  fled  to  her 
stateroom,  leaving  Ida  to  face  the  reporters  alone. 

Ida  was  undaunted;  moreover  she  was  quick  to  seize 
her  first  opportunity  to  dazzle  Butte.  She  made  herself 
amiable  and  interesting  to  the  young  men,  her  natural 
cunning  steering  her  mid-stream,  in  this  her  first  inter 
view  :  an  ordeal  in  which  most  novices  are  wrecked  on  the 
tropic  or  the  arctic  shore.  She  thanked  them  as  warmly 
for  their  news  that  Mr.  Blake  had  left  that  morning  with 
his  doctors  and  nurses  in  a  private  car  for  Southern  Cali 
fornia,  and  expected  his  wife  to  go  directly  to  Los  Angeles, 
as  if  Ora  had  not  received  a  wireless  to  that  effect  an  hour 
before;  she  modestly  told  them  something  of  her  social 
experiences  abroad,  answered  the  inevitable  questions  re 
garding  suffrage,  excused  Ora,  "who  was  naturally  up 
set",  and  expatiated  upon  her  happiness  in  returning  to 
live  in  Butte.  They  thought  this  odd,  but  were  so  delighted 
with  her  mixture  of  dignity  and  naivete  that  they  rushed 
to  their  respective  desks  and  told  the  world  that  the  wife 
of  Gregory  Compton  had  been  the  guest  of  princes  and 
was  the  handsomest  woman  in  America. 

Ora  was  almost  gay  at  the  prospect  of  going  directly  to 
California,  although  she  was  obliged  to  make  the  journey 
alone.  It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  when  they  landed. 
Ida  established  Ora  in  the  first  Overland  Limited  that  left 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     229 

the  Grand  Central  Station,  and  returned  to  the  Waldorf- 
Astoria,  where  she  had  engaged  rooms  for  a  month.  She 
had  no  intention  of  returning  to  Butte  ignorant  of  New 
York.  Westerners  of  wealth,  old  and  recent,  visited  New 
York  casually  several  times  a  year;  and  not  to  know  it, 
even  with  Europe  to  her  credit,  stamped  a  woman  with 
the  newness  of  the  new-rich  who  wore  all  their  jewels  all 
the  time.  Ida  had  seen  many  women  make  fools  of  them 
selves  and  had  no  intention  of  leaving  any  penetrable 
spaces  in  her  armour.  She  spent  every  morning  in  the 
shops,  or  in  the  establishments  of  the  exclusive  dressmak 
ers  tailors  and  milliners  that  were  patronized  by  the  fash 
ionable  women  of  Butte  and  Helena,  giving  them  liberal 
orders.  She  saw  all  the  new  plays,  heard  the  more  famous 
of  the  opera  singers,  and  even  attended  three  symphony 
concerts.  She  drove  in  the  Park  every  afternoon  or  joined 
the  throngs  on  Fifth  Avenue ;  and  she  took  tea  or  lunch  in 
the  different  hotels  and  restaurants  devoted  to  fashion. 
Sometimes  she  sat  in  the  gangways  of  her  own  famous 
hostellerie,  recalling  with  a  tolerant  smile  her  early  crude 
ambitions — had  they  died  less  than  a  year  ago? — to  trail 
her  feathers  up  and  down  Peacock  Alley.  She  wore  one 
of  her  severest  tailored  suits  upon  these  occasions,  and 
maintained  an  air  of  stately  detachment  that  somewhat 
counteracted  the  always  startling  beauty  of  her  face  and 
figure.  No  man  took  his  courage  in  his  hand. 

One  afternoon  she  sat  longer  than  usual,  for  she  had  set 
her  teeth  that  day  and  walked  through  the  Metropolitan 
Museum.  She  fell  to  musing,  and  with  a  more  sustained 
introspection  than  was  her  habit,  upon  the  changes  that 
had  taken  place  within  herself  during  the  past  year ;  won 
dering  "how  deep  they  had  struck",  if  she  really  were  as 
altered  as  she  must  appear  even  to  the  raking  eye  of 
Butte;  or  if  she  merely  had  developed  her  native  charac 
teristics  while  polishing  her  surface  and  furnishing  her 
mind. 

She  also  endeavoured  to  analyse  her  attitude  toward 
returning  to  her  husband,  but  gave  this  up,  although  puz 
zled  that  it  was  not  more  obvious.  But  her  mind  was  clear 
on  one  point.  If  Gregory  desired  her  society  he  must  spend 
his  week-ends  in  Butte;  nothing  would  induce  her  to  re 
turn  to  the  De  Smet  ranch.  She  had  not  even  a  spasm  of 
curiosity  to  see  the  famous  Perch  of  the  Devil  Mine. 


II 

IDA  was  not  given  to  imaginative  excursions,  but  during 
the  three  days'  journey  from  New  York  to  Butte,  she 
made  no  acquaintances,  resting  in  the  seclusion  of  her  draw 
ing-room;  and  after  she  had  read  all  the  magazines  her 
mind  began  to  people  itself.  Although  the  ladies  of  Butte, 
whom  she  now  regarded  as  equals,  moved  along  the  central 
highway,  Gregory  was  always  turning  the  corners,  and 
she  visualised  him  most  frequently  advancing  hurriedly 
toward  the  station  as  the  train  entered — both  late,  of 
course.  She  rehearsed  the  meeting  many  times,  never 
without  a  pricking  sense  of  awkwardness,  for  she  now  fully 
realised  that  when  a  woman  and  her  husband  have  not 
communicated  save  on  the  wire  for  nearly  a  year,  the  first 
interview  is  liable  to  constraint.  He  always  had  been  diffi 
cult  to  talk  to.  Would  he  be  bored  if  she  tried  to  enter 
tain  him  as  Ora  would  entertain  Mark:  with  such  ex 
cerpts  of  their  many  experiences  as  a  confiding  husband 
might  appreciate?  She  never  had  understood  him.  Out 
of  her  greater  knowledge  of  the  world  and  men  should  she 
be  better  able  to  fathom  the  reserves  of  that  strange  silent 
nature— or  did  she  really  care  whether  she  could  or  not? 
Although  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  greet  him  at  the 
station  with  the  warmth  of  an  old  friend,  and  flatter  him 
with  her  delight  in  returning  home,  she  had  not  the  faint 
est  idea  how  she  should  carry  off  the  long  evening — if  the 
train  were  on  time. 

It  was  not.  Probably  no  Northwestern  train  has  arrived 
on  time  in  the  history  of  the  three  railroads.  Ida 's  train, 
due  at  seven  in  the  evening,  arrived  at  midnight.  Her 
Pullman  was  at  the  end  of  the  long  dark  platform,  and 
as  she  walked  slowly  toward  the  station  building — 
which  looked  like  the  bunk  house  of  an  abandoned  mining 
camp  in  the  desert — searching  for  some  one  to  carry  her 
hand  baggage — porters  being  non-existent  in  the  North 
west—she  saw  neither  Gregory  nor  any  other  familiar  face. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  a  disposition  to  cry. 

230 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     231 

But  as  she  tossed  her  head  higher  and  set  her  lips,  a  young 
man  approached  and  asked  if  she  were  Mrs.  Gregory 
Compton.  He  was  a  pleasant  looking  youth,  and  she  was 
so  grateful  to  be  called  by  name  that  she  forgot  her  new 
reserve  and  replied  emphatically  that  she  was. 

' '  I  am  your  chauffeur, ' '  he  said.  t  i  Your  new  car  arrived 
a  few  days  ago,  and  Mr.  Compton  'phoned  me  to  meet 
you.  Have  you  any  hand  baggage  ? ' ' 

Ida  indicated  her  portmanteau  and  hat  box  in  the  dark 
perspective  and  went  on  to  inspect  her  car.  It  was  a  hand 
some  limousine,  lighted  with  electricity,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  she  took  a  childish  pleasure  in  examining  its  fittings. 
But  as  the  man  returned  and  piled  her  baggage  in  front 
she  asked  irrepressibly : 

"Is  Mr.  Compton  not  in  Butte?" 

"No,  ma'am.  He  hasn 't  been  in  Butte  for  weeks.  Lively 
times  out  at  the  mine,  I  guess." 

"And  my  house?    Had  I  not  better  go  to  a  hotel?" 

"Oh,  the  house  is  all  right.  Mr.  Compton 's  secretary 
'phoned  to  an  agency,  and  they  put  in  three  or  four  in  help. 
I  guess  you'll  find  everything  all  right." 

Ida  entered  her  car,  but  scowled  at  its  luxuries.  By 
this  time  she  was  "mad  clean  through."  "The  famous 
American  husband!"  she  thought,  gritting  her  teeth. 
"Best  in  the  world — not.  If  it's  my  horse,  my  dog,  my 
wife  with  an  Englishman,  it's  business  first  last  and  al 
ways  with  an  American.  European  men  are  courteous 
whether  they  mean  it  or  not,  but  Americans  only  remember 
to  be  polite  when  they  have  time.  Ten  months  and  he  can 't 
leave  his  mine  long  enough  to  meet  me  when  I  arrive  at 
midnight ! ' ' 

Her  pleasure  in  returning  to  Butte  had  turned  as  flat 
as  spilt  champagne.  She  did  not  even  glance  at  the  gay 
electric  signs  and  midnight  activities  of  Broadway  as  her 
car  rolled  through  that  sleepless  thoroughfare  toward  the 
West  Side.  But  when  her  chauffeur,  who  had  ignored 
the  speed  limit,  stopped  abruptly  before  a  large  house  of 
admirable  architecture  and  blazing  with  lights,  her  face 
flushed  with  excitement  and  she  forgot  her  recalcitrant 
spouse.  The  door  was  opened  at  once  and  two  maid  servants 
ran  down  the  steps.  They  were  young,  neatly  dressed  and 
capped,  and  it  was  evident  that  their  service  was  dictated 
not  only  by  curiosity  but  by  sympathy. 


232     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

11  Welcome  home,  ma'am,"  one  of  them,  a  Swede,  said 
shyly  as  Ida  stepped  to  the  pavement.  'It's  too  bad  your 
train  was  so  late.  The  cook's  got  a  nice  hot  supper  for 
you. ' ' 

Ida,  who  was  not  easily  touched,  felt  as  grateful  to  these 
smiling  girls  as  to  her  friendly  chauffeur,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  was  tempted  to  ' '  come  down  off  her  perch ' '  and  revel 
in  human  companionship.  But  she  knew  that  it  "  wouldn't 
work ' ' ;  she  merely  thanked  them  graciously  and  ascended 
the  wide  steps  of  her  new  home,  that  palatial  residence  of 
cream-colored  pressed  brick  of  her  unswerving  desires. 
While  the  maids  were  taking  her  bags  and  boxes  upstairs, 
she  walked  through  the  large  rooms  of  the  lower  floor. 
Everything  was  in  the  best  modern  style  of  furnishing,  the 
prevailing  tone  dim  and  rich,  with  Eastern  rugs  on  the 
hardwood  floors;  French  tapestries  and  carved  oak  furni 
ture  and  stained  glass  in  the  library — also  a  few  books; 
paler  tapestries  set  in  panels  in  the  immense  drawing- 
room,  and  many  beautiful  pieces  of  furniture  carefully 
selected  with  an  eye  to  both  contrast  and  mating.  Out  of 
this  room  opened  a  dining-room  that  looked  like  a  baronial 
hall,  and  although  the  Murphys  had  taken  their  silverware 
they  had  left  their  china,  imported  from  Limoges,  and 
their  glass  ware,  made  for  them  by  a  Venetian  firm  that 
had  supplied  Ida's  grandes  dames  for  thirty  years.  In 
short  it  was  one  of  those  stately  and  sumptuous  interiors, 
furnished  by  the  best  houses  in  New  York,  which  one  as 
sociates  exclusively  with  the  three  or  four  great  cities  of 
the  United  States,  and  is  always  unwarrantably  surprised 
to  find  in  the  newer  cities  of  the  West. 

Ida  made  a  pretence  of  eating  her  dainty  supper,  re 
membered  that  she  was  now  a  grande  dame  and  visited 
the  kitchen  to  say  an  appreciative  word  to  the  cook,  then 
ascended  to  her  bedroom  divided  between  anger  and  a 
depression  so  foreign  to  her  temperament  that  she  barely 
recognised  it  for  what  it  was. 

The  large  upper  hall  had  been  fitted  up  as  a  billiard 
room,  and  with  a  continuous  divan  broken  only  by  the 
doors  of  the  bedrooms.  Ida  threw  it  an  appreciative  glance, 
but  it  merely  emphasised  the  fact  that  there  was  no  man  in 
the  house,  and  she  did  not  linger.  Mrs.  Murphy,  evidently 
a  brunette,  had  furnished  her  bedroom  and  dressing-room 
in  primrose  yellow  and  much  lace.  Ida  approved  both  as 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     233 

unreservedly  as  she  had  the  rest  of  the  house,  thankful 
there  was  nothing  to  alter ;  like  many  women  she  had  con 
summate  taste  in  dress  and  none  whatever  for  house  decora 
tion  ;  although  unlike  most  of  these  disparate  ladies  she  was 
quite  aware  of  her  deficiencies.  She  knew  when  a  room 
was  all  that  it  should  be,  but  could  not  have  conceived 
one  of  the  details,  much  less  the  unimpeachable  combina 
tion.  The  sex  instinct  teaches  those  subtleties  of  personal 
adornment  likely  to  allure  the  male,  and  arrest  the  anxious 
eye  of  other  females,  but  ancestral  brain  cells  are  necessary 
for  the  more  civilised  accomplishment. 

Ida's  eyes  fell  on  the  telephone  beside  her  bed  and 
lingered.  She  forgot  her  beautiful  room  and  the  succes 
sive  throbs  of  gratified  ambition,  in  an  overwhelming  de 
sire  to  call  up  Gregory  and  tell  him  what  she  thought  of 
him.  But  she  was  a  woman  in  whom  calculation  was 
stronger  than  impulse,  and  in  the  past  year  she  had  learned 
to  control  her  temper,  not  only  because  a  carefully  nour 
ished  refinement  had  crowded  out  some  of  the  weeds  of 
her  nature,  but  because  her  ever-growing  intelligence 
despised  lack  of  self-control  in  all  things.  So  she  merely 
undressed  herself,  her  eyes  wandering  every  few  minutes 
to  the  telephone.  It  was  incredible  that  he  did  not  ring  her 
up.  That,  at  least,  would  take  but  a  few  moments  of  his 
precious  time. 

However,  she  fell  asleep  immediately  after  her  bath,  and 
it  was  the  telephone  bell  that  awakened  her  at  eight 
o'clock.  This  time  she  frowned  at  it,  for  she  wanted  to 
sleep ;  but  she  sat  up,  put  the  receiver  to  her  ear  and  asked 
languidly:  "Well?" 

A  strange  man's  voice  replied:  "Is  this  Mrs.  Comp- 
tonf" 

"Yes.    Why  am  I  disturbed  so  early?" 
"I'm   sorry — this   is   Mr.    Compton's   secretary   speak 
ing—but  Mr.  Compton  told  me  to  call  you  at  eight  o'clock. 
He  always  comes  in  for  breakfast  at  this  time— here  he  is." 
"Hello!     How  are  you?    What  time  did  you  get  in?" 
Gregory 's  voice  was  elaborately  polite  and  as  eager  as  any 
lover's  of  yesteryear. 

"Are  you  interested?'  Ida's  heart  beat  thickly,  but  her 
tones  were  crisp.  "I  arrived  at  midnight.  Really,  I  ex 
pected  you  to  meet  me.  That  is  generally  considered  the 
decent  thing  to  do." 


234     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Oh!  I'm  sorry  it  was  impossible.  I  can't  leave  the 
mine  at  present.  How  did  you  like  the  house  ? ' ' 

1 1  am  enchanted  with  it — and  with  the  limousine.  When, 
are  you  coming  in?" 

' '  I  can 't  say  at  present.  I  dare  not  leave  for  a  moment. 
You  will  find  a  deposit  to  your  credit  at  the  Daly  bank. ' ' 

" Thanks.     Would— shall  I  run  out?" 

"Better  not.     There  is  always  danger  of  rows." 

"But  of  course  I'm  wild  to  see  the  mine.  You  forget 
how  famous  it  is." 

"Better  wait  awhile.    It  really  isn't  safe." 

"Very  well.  How's  your  wound?  Where  were  you 
hurt,  anyhow?" 

"Not  worth  mentioning,  as  I  cabled  you,  and  I  suppose 
you  got  my  telegram  in  New  York  saying  I  was  all  right 
again.  Sure  you  got  everything  you  want?" 

"I  am  overwhelmed  by  all  this  luxury,  and  your  gener 
osity." 

* '  Glad  you  like  it.    Has  Mrs.  Blake  gone  to  California  ? ' ' 

"She  went  directly  from  the  steamer.  How  is  Mark 
getting  on.  I've  had  only  notes  from  Ora." 

"All  right.  He  doesn't  write  but  has  telegraphed  once 
or  twice.  He'd  better  stay  below  several  months.  Write 
Mrs.  Blake  to  persuade  him  to  take  things  easy.  He  had 
a  close  call.  I  can  get  along  without  him  for  awhile, 
but  I  can't  afford  to  lose  him.  Will  you  see  to  this?" 

"I'll  write  Ora  today.  She's  in  no  hurry  to  return  to 
Butte — was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  going  to  Cali 
fornia,  and  intends  to  take  Mark  to  Santa  Barbara,  where 
she  knows  a  lot  of  people. ' ' 

"Ah!  Good.  Well,  I  must  get  some  breakfast.  Amuse 
yourself. ' ' 

"And  you  won't  be  in  for  several  days?" 

' '  Afraid  not.    Good-bye. ' ' 

Ida  set  the  receiver  back  on  the  table,  but  it  was  some 
minutes  before  she  lay  down  again.  She  sat  thinking, 
with  compressed  lips.  Born  with  intuitive  knowledge  of 
men,  she  had,  as  she  once  remarked  to  Ora,  turned  a 
goodly  number  of  them  inside  out  during  the  past  year. 
Gregory  Compton  did  not  intend  to  live  with  her  again. 
She  knew  this  as  conclusively  as  if  his  kind  matter-of-fact 
tones  had  expressed  the  direct  message.  Before  she  left 
home  it  never  had  occurred  to  Ida  to  wonder  if  her  hus- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     235 

band  still  loved  her  or  not,  and  she  had  learned  to  accept 
his  consuming  masculine  interest  in  matters  mineralogic 
as  all  in  the  day's  work.  Now  she  wondered  if  he  had 
ceased  to  love  her  then  or  since.  That  he  took  no  further 
interest  in  her  as  a  woman,  although  amiably  determined 
to  do  his  duty  as  her  legal  provider,  would  have  been  al 
most  patent  to  an  imagination  as  riotous  as  Ora's;  to  Ida, 
practical  and  clear-sighted,  there  was  not  a  loophole  for 
delusion. 

In  a  few  moments  she  relaxed  the  tension  of  her  body 
and  lay  down. 

"Well!"  she  thought  impatiently,  "what's  the  matter 
with  me,  anyhow  ?  Isn  't  it  what  I  always  hopefully  looked 
forward  to?  Did  I  ever  pretend  to  be  anything  but  re 
signed — or  to  be  in  love  with  him  after  the  first  few  weeks  ? 
I  guess  I'm  spoiled  with  too  much  devotion,  that's  what. 
Seeing  too  many  men  lose  their  heads.  Much  their  old 
heads  are  worth.  But  I  guess  I  don't  like  being  turned 
down  for  once.  Goose.  It's  my  lay  to  cut  out  pique  and 
sing  a  song  of  thanksgiving  that  I've  got  pretty  nearly 
everything  I  ever  romanced  about  and  set  my  mind  on. 
It's  a  pretty  good  old  world  whei}  things  come  your  way, 
arid  women '11  never  be  happy  till  they  learn  to  put  men 
in  the  same  place  that  men  put  us — on  a  handy  little  side 
track.  I've  got  a  whole  parlour  car  instead  of  an  upper 
berth  like  some  poor  devils,  so  I'll  quit  whining.  But  if 
there's  another  woman  in  the  case,  let  them  both  look  out 
--that's  all!" 


Ill 

T  DA  slept  for  two  hours  longer  and  rose  in  a  philosophical 
mood.  As  she  more  than  once  had  remarked  to  Ora, 
''nothing  in  life  is  just  what  you  figured  it  out  before 
hand";  and  this,  one  of  life's  most  unwelcome  lessons, 
it  had  not  taken  her  twenty-six  years  to  learn.  She  had, 
in  fact,  accepted  and  docketed  it  while  women  twice  her 
age  were  nursing  their  illusions. 

She  had  expected  to  be  met  at  the  station  not  only  by 
her  husband  but  by  Ruby  and  Pearl,  to  say  nothing  of 
reporters.  ' '  She  had  slunk  in  like  a  nobody, ' '  and  her  hus 
band  declined  to  feed  the  fires  of  her  vanity,  blazing  so 
merrily  these  last  ten  months.  Never  mind.  She  had  the 
genius  of  quick  readjustment  and  a  sharp  eye  for  the  next 
move  in  the  great  law  of  compensation. 

"And  believe  me,"  she  thought,  as  she  put  the  finish 
ing  touches  to  her  smart  morning  street  costume,  and 
taught  the  admiring  Swede  how  to  pin  on  a  veil,  "the 
gods  have  provided  the  goods  pretty  liberally,  and  I  don't 
belong  to  the  immortal  order  of  female  jackasses.  Nine- 
tenths  of  women's  troubles,  mental  and  physical,  sprout 
in  that  hothouse  corner  of  their  skulls  they  call  imagina 
tion.  None  of  it  in  mine.  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to 
morrow  we  shall  die.  Wait  till  I'm  launched  in  Butte. 
And  just  wait  till  I  give  a  dinner  party  to  the  second  son 
of  an  English  duke.  Tra  la  la!" 

Before  the  morning  was  over  even  philosophy  had  folded 
her  wings.  If  life  had  been  niggardly  yesterday  she  gave 
with  both  hands  today.  When  Ida  arrived  at  the  bank  she 
was  received  with  exceeding  deference  by  the  vice-presi 
dent  and  informed  that  he  had  recently  invested  two  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  in  her  name,  acting  on  instruc 
tions  from  Mr.  Compton;  and  that  as  a  large  part  of  it 
was  in  mortgages  the  interest  in  some  cases  ran  as  high 
as  eight  per  cent.  The  money  had  been  placed  in  his  hands 
for  investment  shortly  after  the  great  land  deal,  details 

236 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     237 

of  which  had  reached  the  public  ear  in  due  course  and 
greatly  added  to  the  prestige  of  Gregory  Compton.  In 
fact  it  had  invested  his  remote  and  ambiguous  personality 
with  an  almost  sinister  significance.  As  Ida  listened  to 
the  story  of  this  transaction  (she  barely  had  opened  a 
newspaper  in  New  York  and  knew  nothing  of  it),  she 
found  herself  wondering  if  it  could  be  true  that  once  she 
had  possessed  this  man  of  whom  even  bankers  spoke  with 
bated  breath.  It  was  patent  that  they  stood  in  awe  not 
only  of  the  rapid  and  masterly  strokes  which  had  increased 
his  little  patrimony  by  something  over  two  millions  in  less 
than  a  year,  but  of  his  colossal  luck,  his  sensational  reputa 
tion  as  a  "winner",  and  his  open  defiance  of  the  greatest 
of  all  great  trusts. 

It  seemed  to  Ida,  as  she  sat  in  the  vice-president's  of 
fice  listening  to  his  classification  of  her  husband  with 
Marcus  Daly,  W.  A.  Clark,  and  F.  Augustus  Heinze,  the 
three  commanding  figures  heretofore  in  the  financial  his 
tory  of  Montana,  and  to  predictions  that  Compton  would 
go  farther  than  any  one  of  his  predecessors,  that  she 
might  have  known  Gregory  in  his  extreme  youth  or  in 
some  previous  existence;  but  that  this  man  who  now  not 
only  ranked  first  in  the  eyes  of  all  Montana,  but  had 
focussed  the  attention  of  a  continent,  no  longer  touched 
her  life  save  as  a  fairy  god-father.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  she  had  appreciated  his  fame.  She  had  been  ab 
sorbed  in  Europe  and  its  diversions — and  diverters;  the 
new  wealth  had  been  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course ;  her 
imagination  had  not  been  powerful  enough  to  visualise  at 
a  distance  what  her  mind  grasped  the  moment  the  facts 
were  presented  to  her  in  the  measured  yet  glowing  terms 
of  a  bank's  president. 

"He  always  did  feel  himself  a  cut  above  me,"  she 
thought  grimly  as  she  left  the  building  and  walked  down 
Main  Street.  "And  now,  I  suppose,  he  thinks  Perch  of  the 
Devil  is  Mount  Olympus,  and  that  he  is  some  god.  It 
would  be  fun  to  put  a  nick  or  two  in  his  halo — but  never 
mind :  I  've  got  a  cool  two  hundred  thousand —  and  a  pala 
tial  residence,  and  a  limousine — sounds  like  a  fairy  tale. 
There's  nothing  mean  about  him,  anyhow." 

When  she  reached  her  beautiful  home  she  found  four 
reporters  awaiting  her.  They  apologised  for  not  meeting 
her  at  the  train,  but  as  hour  after  hour  had  passed  with 


238     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

discouraging  reports,  they  finally  had  gone  home  to  recu 
perate  for  the  next  day's  labours.  Ida  dismissed  the  last 
of  her  regrets,  and  told  them  all  that  she  wished  Butte 
to  know  at  once,  showed  the  women  the  contents  of  her 
trunks,  which  the  maids  were  unpacking,  promised  to  let 
them  know  when  the  newer  Paris  wardrobe  arrived,  and 
finally  gave  them  lunch.  Reporters  are  the  quickest  peo 
ple  in  the  world  to  detect  affectations,  assumptions,  and 
false  values,  and  the  most  merciless  in  their  exposure; 
but,  although  these  four  were  on  the  alert,  they  could  find 
neither  traces  of  original  commonness  nor  imitation  of  the 
British  aristocracy.  Ida  apparently  had  consigned  the 
slang  of  her  former  class  to  the  limbo  of  careless  gram 
mar,  and  she  was  so  simple  and  natural  that  they  failed 
to  discover  how  clever  she  was ;  they  agreed,  as  they  walked 
down  Broadway,  that  she  was  merely  a  marvel  of  adapta 
bility,  like  so  many  others  that  had  done  credit  to  the 
great  state  of  Montana,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fluid  West  in 
general. 

But,  although  Ida  could  be  anything  she  chose  when 
occasion  demanded,  she  always  sought  Belief  from  the 
strain  as  quickly  as  possible.  Immediately  #fter  the  de 
parture  of  the  reporters  she  telephoned  for  her  limousine 
and  drove  to  the  large  ''Block"  in  the  heart  of  the  busi 
ness  district  where  Miss  Ruby  Miller  kept  the  looks  of 
the  Butte  ladies  up  to  par.  As  she  left  the  elevator  she 
saw  that  the  familiar  door  was  open  as  usual  and  the  old 
screen  before  it.  She  tapped  discreetly,  and  Miss  Ruby 
came  out  into  the  hall,  removing  the  cold  cream  from  her 
hands  with  her  apron. 

"Ide!"  she  cried  rapturously,  throwing  both  arms  about 
her  friend's  velvet  shoulders.  'Glory  be,  but  I'm  glad  to 
see  you  and  you  do  look  fine " 

"How  mean  of  you  not  to  meet  me " 

"We  had  it  all  fixed  and  supper  here,  but  gave  it  up  at 
ten  o'clock.  For  all  we  knew  you  might  not  get  in  till 
morning,  and  you  know  how  we  work " 

"Well,  I'll  forgive  you  if  you  both  come  to  dinner  with 
me  tonight.  I  want  to  have  one  good  old  time  before  I 
sit  up  and  play  the  grande  dame  act  for  weeks  on  end " 

"I  guess  you're  one  now  without  any  playacting.  You 
look  the  real  thing  all  right.  And  I  guess  we  won't  see 
so  awful  much  of  you  now -" 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL    239 

"Do  you  mean  because  I'm  harnessed  up  to  a  bunch  of 
money "  began  Ida  in  high  indignation. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  11  always  feel  the  same,  but  grand 
dames  and  our  sort  don 't  gee  at  the  same  table.  The  West 
is  democratic  but  it  ain't  too  democratic.  Don't  think 
I'm  jealous.  You're  just  where  I'd  like  to  be  myself,  and 
I  ?m  proud  that  one  of  us  has  got  to  the  top  so  quick.  My ! 
But  Mr.  Compton's  a  wonder.  To  think  that  I  ever  dared 
call  him  Greg — even  behind  his  back.  Well,  he'll  be  just 
as  proud  of  you  as  you  are  of  him.  Pearl'll  want  to  see 
your  hats." 

' '  She  can  copy  them  all.    Be  sure  to  come  early. ' ' 

She  felt  warmed  by  the  little  interview,  but  as  she  went 
down  in  the  elevator  she  admitted  to  herself  that  her  future 
intercourse  with  her  old  friends  must  be  sporadic,  no  mat 
ter  what  her  loyalty ;  and  she  wondered  if  her  new  friends 
would  take  their  place ;  or  even  be  to  her  the  half  of  what 
Ora  had  become  in  the  long  intimacy  of  travel.  She 
shrugged  her  handsome  shoulders.  If  you  elected  to  mount 
in  life,  you  must  pay  the  toll.  Were  she  abruptly  re 
turned  to  the  old  cottage  in  East  Granite  Street  certainly 
Ruby  and  Pearl  would  not  compensate  her.  No,  not  for  a 
moment.  You  may  slip  back  in  life  if  you  are  not  strong 
enough  to  hold  on,  but  you  do  not  deliberately  turn  back 
even  for  the  friends  of  your  youth.  Neither  does  Prog 
ress  halt  and  sit  down  to  wait  for  its  failures  to  catch  up. 
Ida  leaned  back  in  her  limousine  and  met  the  interested 
eyes  of  many  pedestrians  of  both  sexes  as  her  chauffeur 
drove  her  about  for  an  hour  to  get  the  air,  and  inci 
dentally  to  be  looked  at. 

Today  she  was  in  a  mood  to  enjoy  Butte,  and  she  de 
liberately  summoned  the  long  anticipated  sensations.  She 
revelled  in  the  gaunt  grey  ugliness  of  Anaconda  Hill  which 
flung  its  arrogant  head  high  above  the  eastern  end  of  the 
great  hill  itself;  in  the  sensation  of  driving  over  miles 
of  subterranean  numbered  streets,  some  of  them  three 
thousand  feet  below,  to  which  that  famous  mass  of  rock 
and  dirt  and  angular  buildings  was  the  portal.  She 
leaned  far  out  of  her  car  to  admire  the  glittering  mountains 
that  looked  like  blue  ice  topped  with  white,  and  decided 
that  they  were  far  more  original  and  beautiful  than  the 
Alps  of  Austria  and  Switzerland;  certainly  they  tugged 
at  her  heartstrings  and  at  the  same  time  filled  her  with  an 


240     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL1 

unprecedented  desire  to  sing.  She  noticed  for  the  first 
time  that  the  violet  foothills  against  the  nearer  mountain 
east  of  the  city  Seemed  to  close  the  end  of  the  streets  as 
the  Alps  did  in  Innspruck,  and  gave  the  ragged  overgrown 
camp  clinging  to  its  high  perch  in  the  Rockies  a  redeeming 
touch  of  perfect  beauty. 

She  drove  out  to  Columbia  Gardens,  bought  flowers  from 
the  conservatory  for  her  rooms,  and  wandered  about  re 
calling  the  many  gay  times  she  had  had  in  the  dancing 
pavilion.  But  her  eye  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  steep 
mountain  behind,  then  dropped  slowly  to  the  base.  It 
was  there  that  she  had  promised  to  marry  Gregory  Comp- 
ton.  She  remembered  his  young  passion  and  her  own. 
She  had  never  felt  anything  like  it  again;  nor  had  he  ever 
been  quite  the  same.  Was  it  one  of  those  "  supreme  mo 
ments"  novelists  so  blithely  alluded  to?  The  logical  in 
ference  of  that  old  bit  of  bathos  was  that  such  moments 
had  no  duplicates.  She  felt  faint  and  dizzy  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  then  walked  back  to  her  car,  smiling  grimly  as  she 
realised  that  she  had  experienced  a  fleeting  echo  of  that 
vast  unattainable  desire  women  live  and  die  cherishing 
or  bewailing.  ''Poor  things!  Poor  things!"  she  thought, 
with  the  first  pang  of  pity  her  sex  had  ever  inspired.  "No 
wonder  they  go  in  for  suffrage,  art,  work,  any  old  thing. 
Home,"  she  added  to  the  chauffeur. 

She  peremptorily  dismissed  all  thought  of  the  past  dur 
ing  the  drive  back  to  town  and  reverted  to  her  pleasure 
in  once  more  feeling  a  part  of  her  surroundings,  hideous 
though  they  might,  for  the  most  part,  be ;  instead  of  walk 
ing  with  alert  critical  eye  through  what  always  must  seem 
to  her  the  animated  pages  of  ancient  history.  But  her 
complacency  received  a  sudden  shock.  The  car  was  roll 
ing  along  Park  Street  when  her  eye  rested  upon  a  man's 
face  vaguely  familiar.  She  had  bowed  graciously  and  the 
face  was  behind  her  before  she  realised  that  the  man  was 
Professor  Whalen,  and  that,  for  a  second,  she  had  looked 
into  a  pair  of  pale  blue  eyes  that  sent  her  a  swift  message 
of  hate. 

Ida  shuddered.  The  warm  light  air  of  her  beloved 
Rockies  turned  cold  and  heavy.  "I  feel  as  if  I'd  stepped 
on  a  snake  and  just  missed  getting  bitten,"  she  thought, 
putting  her  sensations  into  a  concrete  form,  after  her 
habit.  "I  bad  forgotten  the  little  viper  was  alive,  and 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIE    241 

I  wish  to  goodness  he  wasn't."  She  had  flouted  supersti 
tion  always,  but  she  could  not  shake  off  the  sense  of  menace 
and  evil  that  had  vibrated  from  the  man  until  she  was 
within  her  own  doors  once  more.  Then  she  became  as 
oblivious  of  Whalen's  existence  as  during  that  late  exotic 
period  when  everything  connected  with  her  old  life  had 
seemed  too  crude  to  be  real. 

The  parlour  maid  handed  her  a  note  that  had  arrived  an 
hour  before  from  Mr.  Luning,  Mark's  partner.  Mrs. 
Blake,  he  wrote,  had  bought  a  present  for  Mrs.  Compton 
in  Paris  and  sent  it  to  the  care  of  her  husband's  firm. 
Mr.  Luning  had  gone  the  day  before  to  Great  Falls  to 
clear  it  in  the  Custom  House,  and  now  had  the  pleasure  of 
forwarding  the  boxes,  etc. 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Ida,  "what  can  it  be?" 
"There's  four  big  boxes  in  the  back  hall,  ma'am." 
Ida  lost  no  time.  If  Ora  had  given  her  a  present  it 
must  be  worth  looking  at,  and  she  went  as  rapidly  as 
dignity  would  permit  to  the  nether  regions  and  ordered 
the  boxes  opened.  The  present  proved  to  be  a  magnificent 
silver  service,  from  many  dozens  of  "flat  ware"  to  massive 
platters,  vegetable  dishes,  flower,  fruit  and  bon-bon  pieces, 
and  candelabra.  The  delighted  servants  made  a  shining 
display  on  the  dining-room  table,  and  after  Ida  had 
gloated  over  it  for  a  time  and  informed  her  audience  that 
it  was  copied  from  a  royal  service  in  the  Louvre,  she  went 
suddenly  up  to  her  bedroom.  This  time  she  did  shed  a  few 
tears,  and  as  she  looked  at  her  handkerchief  in  some  won 
der  she  decided  that  there  was  at  least  one  person  that 
she  loved,  "hard-headed"  as  she  was,  and  that  Ora  Blake 
had  found  the  one  soft  spot  in  her  flinty  heart  and  wormed 
herself  into  it.  She  went  to  her  desk  immediately  and 
wrote  Ora  a  letter  that  was  almost  tender,  admitting  that 
she  missed  her  "like  fury",  and  begging  her  to  return 
soon. 

"Greg  telephoned  this  morning,"  she  concluded,  ob 
livious  that  she  was  betraying  the  fact  that  she  had  not 
seen  her  husband,  "and  told  me  to  tell  you  to  keep  Mark 
down  below  for  several  months.  But  his  lungs  must  be 
well  by  this  time  or  he'd  be  dead.  And  the  rest  of  him 
will  mend  all  the  sooner  in  this  magnificent  air.  Heavens, 
but  it's  good  to  breathe  it  again!  It  makes  one  feel  as 
if  the  atmosphere  of  Europe  hadn't  been  aired  for  a  cen- 


242    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIU 

tury.  I  Ve  got  a  wonder  of  a  house  and  a  jim  dandy  of  a 
limousine,  but  ever  since  I  came  I've  felt  kind  of  home 
sick,  and  I  Ve  just  realised  it 's  for  you,  old  girl.  So,  come 
home.  Once  more  ten  million  thanks. " 

And  when  Ruby  and  Pearl  dined  with  her  that  night  she 
realised  that  all  her  old  zest  in  their  society  was  gone. 
Ida  Hook,  at  least,  had  "passed  on/' 


IV 

IT  was  on  the  morning  of  this  same  day  that  Gregory 
sat  alone  in  his  cabin  uncommonly  idle,  for  he  still 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time  underground,  when  not 
away  on  business  connected  with  his  new  investments  and 
deals     For  the  last  week  he  had  not  left  the  hill,  and  al 
though  he  was  on  the  alert  to  hear  his  geological  acumen 
vindicated,  he  was  in  no  mood  to  find  pleasure  in  his  mine. 
His  conscience,  an  organ  that  troubled  him  little,   was 
restive      In  spite  of  his  liberal  disbursements,  he  knew 
that  he  had  treated  Ida  unfairly.    He  had  long  since  made 
up  his  mind  to  obliterate  her  from  his  personal  life,  and, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told  about  a  man  who  had  snapped 
his  fingers  in  the  face  of  the  most  formidable  combination 
of  capital  in  the  world,  he  was  afraid  to  meet  his  wife 
Vanity,   he   argued,   in  such  women  takes  the   place  of 
warmth,  and  he  had  no  mind  to  burden  his  memory  and 
resource  with  an  endless  chain  of  subterfuges;  nor  had 
he  any  relish  for  the  bald  statement  that  since  he  could 
not  have  the  woman  he  wanted  he  would  have  none ;  and 
that  his  mine,  as  complex  and  mysterious,  as  provocative  of 
dreams,  as  capricious  and  satisfying  as  woman  herself— 
to  say  nothing  of  hard  work  and  increasing  power— was  to 
fill  his  life. 

Ida  might  rage,  stamp,  scream,  with  her  hands  on  ner 
hips,  her  superb  eyes  flashing.  Worse  still,  she  might  weep, 
lamenting  that  he  loved  her  no  longer— if  he  made  her 
hurried  friendly  calls.  Far,  far  worse,  he  might  suc 
cumb  to  her  beauty  and  superlative  femaleness  and  hate 
himself  ever  after.  His  was  to  be  a  life  of  unremitting 
and  constructive  work;  he  must  keep  that  blue  flame 
burning  on  the  altar  in  his  sanctuary.  If  he  never  paused 
to  draw  it  up  into  his  consciousness  he  must  know  it  was 
there. 

Better  stay  away  until  she  understood  all  that  it  was 
necessary  she  should  know,  wore  out  her  pique  in  private, 

243 


244     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL' 

and  accepted  the  situation.  But  he  would  have  felt  better 
this  morning  if  he  had  heard  that  her  train  had  arrived 
early  in  the  evening.  He  might  be  ruthless,  even  where 
women  were  concerned,  but  he  was  also  sensitive  and 
capable  of  tenderness. 

But  he  was  not  thinking  of  Ida  alone.  He  was  listen 
ing  for  the  footsteps  of  Joshua  Mann,  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  he  heard  them,  as  well  as  the  angry  growl  of  his 
foreman's  voice.  Mann  entered  without  ceremony. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you,  sir.  We've  the  devil's  own 
luck  again " 

"Apex  struck  the  Primo  vein?" 

"No,  and  won't  for  fifty  feet  yet.  But — well — I  hate 
to  say  it — we've  lost  our  vein — cut  off  as  short  as  if  it  had 
been  sawed.  Of  course,  it's  faulted,  and  God  only  knows 
where  its  dropped  to — or  how  far.  A  prettier  shoot  of 
ore  was  never  uncovered.  What's  worrying  me  is  that — 
oh,  hell! — just  suppose  that's  what  Amalgamated  is  sink 
ing  on.  My  head 's  going  round.  Can  I  have  something  ? ' ' 

Gregory  waved  his  hand  toward  the  cupboard  where 
his  visitors  found  refreshment.  When  Mann  had  braced 
himself,  his  employer  tapped  a  large  sheet  of  paper  that 
lay  on  the  table. 

"Come  here,"  he  said.  "I  made  this  map  some  time 
ago,  and  calculated  to  a  day  when  you  would  lose  the 
vein.  I  guessed  our  vein  had  faulted  before  Amalga 
mated  got  busy.  But  don't  worry.  They're  either  on  a 
parallel  vein  or  on  a  mere  fork. ' '  His  pencil  moved  along 
the  vein  already  stoped,  travelled  over  the  fault  line  and 
recovered  a  vein  further  down.  "Hundred  feet,"  he  said. 
"With  air  drills  and  unless  the  fault  breccia  is  uncom 
monly  hard,  which  I  don 't  think  is  the  case,  we  should  find 
it  in  less  than  three  weeks.  They  can't  get  through  that 
rock  for  at  least  a  month.  Even  then  they  may  not  touch 
us,  but  then  again  they  may,  and  we  must  be  there  first. 
Cut  across  the  fault  at  once  and  follow  it  on  the  footwall 
side  to  the  east.  Get  well  into  the  footwall.  If  you  don't 
recover  the  vein  inside  of  a  hundred  feet  I  '11  stand  to  lose 
a  thousand  dollars  and  you  '11  be  the  winner. ' ' 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Mann  admiringly.  "But,  by 
jing!  I  was  worried.  You  never  can  tell  about  them 
faults.  When  the  old  earth  split  herself  up  and  got  to 
slipping  she  not  only  lost  one  side  of  herself  sometimes, 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     245 

but  twisted  about  as  if  she  was  having  fun  with  the  apex 
law  of  Montana  in  advance.  But  I  figure  out  that  you're 
like  old  Marcus  Daly — you've  got  a  sort  of  X-ray  in  your 
eye  that  sees  the  ore  winking  below.  So  long." 

He  departed  to  carry  encouragement  to  the  anxious 
miners,  and  Gregory  went  out  and  walked  along  his  hill. 
By  this  time  he  knew  every  inch  of  it,  and  had  found  in 
dications  of  ore  in  his  other  claims  while  superintending 
the  development  work  necessary  before  perfecting  his  pat 
ents.  If  Amalgamated  sank  on  his  present  vein  and  the 
courts  enjoined  him  from  working  it  until  the  matter  of 
apex  rights  was  settled,  he  would  simply  go  ahead  and  sink 
through  the  carbonates  in  his  other  claims  to  those  vast 
deposits  of  chalcopyrite  with  which  he  was  convinced  his 
hill  was  packed.  He  knew  the  geological  history  of  every 
mine  in  Montana,  and  while  he  had  given  up  all  hope  of 
finding  gold  on  his  estate  save  in  small  incidental  values, 
he  believed  that  he  possessed  one  of  the  greatest  copper 
deposits  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  And  now  that  even  one 
vein  of  his  hill  was  threatened,  he  dismissed  his  old  dreams 
with  a  shrug  and  transferred  his  undivided  affection  to 
the  exciting  treasure  the  earth  had  given  him.  There  were 
few  surprises  in  gold  mines.  A  great  copper  mine  might 
make  geological  history.  In  two  districts,  Butte  and  Castle 
Mountain,  copper  glance,  an  ore  of  secondary  enrichment, 
had  been  found  far  down  in  the  sulphide  zone  below  chalco 
pyrite,  chief  of  the  primary  ores.  He  believed  that  he 
should  find  glance  at  depth  of  nine  hundred  feet.  If 
there  were  masses  of  it  he  should  take  out  millions  in  a 
year,  for  chalcocite  was  the  richest  of  the  permanent  cop 
per  ores  of  this  region,  running  as  high  as  79.8. 

He  had  been  on  amiable  terms  with  the  manager  and 
engineer  of  the  Apex  Mine  since  the  battle  underground, 
and  he  crossed  the  claim  unmolested  to  make  his  daily 
inspection  of  the  Primo  shaft  house.  But  there  had 
been  no  further  attempt  to  use  the  cross-cut,  although 
the  Apex  people  had  managed  before  they  were  dis 
covered  to  drive  to  the  point  upon  which  they  expected 
to  sink. 

Gregory  walked  up  the  hill  beyond  to  look  at  the  cottage 
just  completed,  which  was  to  be  occupied  by  the  manager 
and  foreman  of  the  Primo  Mine  as  soon  as  Mark  reopened 
it.  He  had  been  about  to  begin  operations,  cutting  across 


246     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

the  fault  Gregory  had  demonstrated — a  fault  parallel  to 
the  one  in  Perch  of  the  Devil — when  he  was  shot  nearly 
to  death. 

The  cottage  was  situated  in  a  clearing  in  the  pine  woods, 
somewhat  apart  from  the  cabins,  which  were  being  reno 
vated  and  made  comfortable  for  the  miners.  Gregory  was 
so  positive  that  the  pyroxenite  vein  would  be  recov 
ered  just  beyond  the  row  of  aspens,  some  sixty  feet  below 
the  tableland,  that  Mark,  who  believed  his  friend  to  be  an 
inspired  geologist,  was  preparing  for  a  long  period  of 
mining;  although  if  it  had  been  a  quartz  mine  Gregory, 
sure  as  he  was  of  his  judgment,  would  not  have  permitted 
him  to  put  up  a  mill  and  concentrating  plant  until  suffi 
cient  ore  had  been  blocked  out  to  warrant  the  expense.  But 
pyroxenite  went  direct  to  the  smelter,  and  a  cottage  could 
always  be  rented. 

The  little  bungalow  had  two  bedrooms  besides  one  for 
a  Chinese  servant,  a  bathroom,  and  a  large  living-room 
with  a  deep  fireplace,  a  raftered  ceiling,  and  pine  walls 
stained  brown.  Gregory,  as  he  realised  how  cosy  it  would 
be  when  furnished,  wondered  that  he  had  been  satisfied 
with  his  two-roomed  cabin  for  so  long.  He  had  been  too 
absorbed  to  think  of  comfort,  but  today  he  felt  a  desire  for 
something  more  nearly  resembling  a  home  than  a  perch. 
He  looked  through  the  windows  at  the  sibilant  pines,  the 
pink  carpet  of  primrose  moss,  the  distant  forests  rising  to 
the  blue  and  white  mountains;  and  then  he  sighed  as  he 
glanced  slowly  about  the  long  room  and  pictured  it  fur 
nished  in  warm  tones  of  red  and  brown,  wondering  if  either 
of  the  men  would  be  married.  It  would  be  an  ideal  home 
for  a  honeymoon. 

He  twitched  his  shoulders  impatiently  and  went  outside. 
To  his  surprise  he  saw  a  wagon  ascending  the  hill  laden 
with  lumber,  the  seats  occupied  by  the  contractor  and  car 
penters  that  had  built  the  bungalow. 

" What's  up?"  he  asked,  as  the  contractor  leaped  to 
the  ground. 

"  Another  bungalow.  Perhaps  you  could  suggest  a  site. 
It 's  to  be  near  this,  and  the  same  size.  We  had  a  telegram 
from  Mr.  Blake  yesterday." 

"But  what  does  he  want  of  two  cottages?" 

"Can't  say,  sir,  unless  he  means  to  come  out  here  to 
get  well." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     247 

"That's  nonsense.  He  knows  he  could  stay  at  my  house 
on  the  ranch." 

But  Gregory  was  not  in  the  habit  of  thinking  aloud. 
After  indicating  a  site  he  swung  back  to  his  hill,  angry 
and  apprehensive.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Mark  in 
tended  to  spend  the  summer  at  the  mine  and  bring  his  wife 
with  him  ?  As  soon  as  he  reached  his  cabin  he  sat  down  at 
his  table,  and  after  getting  his  friend's  present  address 
from  Luning,  telephoned  a  long  distance  message  to  Pony 
to  be  telegraphed  to  Mr.  Mark  Blake  in  Santa  Barbara. 
Its  gist  was  that  the  weather  was  abominable  and  that  Mark 
must  not  think  of  anything  so  foolish  as  to  bring  his 
weakened  heart  and  lungs  to  this  altitude.  His  services 
would  be  imperative  later  when  his  solicitous  friend  locked 
horns  with  Amalgamated,  and  meanwhile  he  was,  for  heav 
en's  sake,  to  take  care  of  himself  and  remain  on  the  coast 
until  he  was  in  a  condition  to  work  day  and  night. 

He  received  an  answer  that  afternoon. 

"No  intention  of  leaving  here  for  two  months.  Lungs 
pretty  good,  but  shall  wait  for  leg  to  heal.  Ora  wants 
present  cottage  for  herself  as  she  intends  to  spend  summer 
at  mine.  Will  you  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  manager?  He 
can  live  in  the  lessee 's  shack  until  the  new  cottage  is  built. 
Might  begin  operations  at  once.  Hope  this  not  too  much 
trouble,  Mark. ' ' 

This  message  was  transmitted  over  the  telephone,  and, 
to  the  excessive  annoyance  of  the  operator,  who  happened 
to  be  the  belle  of  Pony,  Gregory  asked  her  three  times, 
and  with  no  excess  of  politeness,  to  repeat  it.  The  third 
time  he  wrote  it  out  and  stared  at  the  words  as  if  the 
unsteady  characters  were  recombining  into  a  sketch  of  the 
infernal  regions. 

"Good  God!"  he  thought.     "And  I  can't  get  away!" 

Was  Mark  mad?  Was  she  mad?  Then  he  realised  the 
blissful  ignorance  of  both  regarding  the  drama  he  so  often 
had  swept  from  the  stage  of  his  mind,  that  secret  dweller 
in  the  most  secret  recesses  of  his  soul.  Doubtless  Ora 
never  had  thrown  him  a  thought  since  they  parted  at  her 
gate.  He  remembered  her  expressed  intention  to  live  at 
her  mine  when  the  lease  was  up,  her  desire  to  adventure 
underground,  her  intense  appreciation  of  the  romance  of 
mining.  He  closed  his  eyes,  his  face  relaxed.  So  long  as 
she  cared  nothing  for  him  there  was  no  danger;  he  might 


248     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

daydream  about  her  a  bit.  At  least — at  last! — he  should 
see  her  again,  talk  to  her,  work  with  her,  help  her  as  no 
one  else  could  help  her.  If  the  association  he  would  have 
avoided  was  inevitable  why  not  welcome  it  as  a  brief  oasis 
in  what  must  be  an  arid  life,  so  far  as  mortal  companion 
ship  was  concerned? 

But  he  was  not  the  man  to  dream  long.  Presently  he 
opened  his  eyes,  set  his  jaw  until  it  looked  a  yard  long,  put 
on  his  overalls,  and  went  underground. 


BUTTE  long  since  had  made  up  its  mind  as  to  the  social 
future  of  Mrs.  Gregory  Compton.  That  Ida's  mother 
had  been  a  laundress  and  her  father  a  miner  concerned 
the  ladies  of  Butte  as  little  as  many  similar  outcroppings 
of  family  history  peculiar  not  only  to  Montana  but  to  all 
regions  of  recent  exploitation  and  rapid  growth. 

In  the  hearty  welcome  extended  to  the  newcomer,  with 
either  the  money  or  the  personality  to  command  its  atten 
tion,  Butte  more  nearly  resembles  London  than  any  other 
city  in  the  world.  To  pasts  she  is  indifferent,  provided 
they  are  not  resurrected  as  models  for  a  present ;  she  asks 
no  questions  of  a  pretty,  amiable,  amusing  woman  who 
pays  her  the  compliment  of  sojourning  in  her  midst,  so 
long  as  the  lady  exercises  an  equal  reticence — assuming 
reticence  to  be  her  virtue — and  plays  the  social  game  with 
savoir  faire.  Distractions  on  that  high  perch  are  few, 
social  life  ebbs  oftener  than  it  flows,  many  of  the  large 
houses  are  closed  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  and  only 
the  very  young,  who  care  not  where  they  are  so  long  as 
they  may  dance,  find  life  in  an  overgrown  mining  camp  as 
satisfactory  as  their  elders  find  New  York. 

But  the  hospitality  of  Butte  is  genuine  and  founded 
largely  upon  common  sense.  Most  of  the  women  compos 
ing  its  society  have  enjoyed  wealth  for  many  years;  they 
have  travelled  extensively;  and  if  they  continue  to  make 
their  homes  in  Butte  it  is  solely  on  account  of  their  own 
business  interests  or  those  of  their  men.  They  argue  that 
to  deprive  themselves  of  even  the  casual  diversion,  assum 
ing  the  exclusive  airs  of  large  and  resourceful  communities, 
would  merely  put  them  on  a  level  with  thousands  of  other 
small  towns  slowly  stagnating,  be  unworthy  of  their 
worldly  experience,  and  of  the  large  free  spirit  of  the 
Northwest  which  has  pervaded  that  isolated  camp  since 
they  came  with  their  husbands  or  fathers  to  take  a  hand 
in  its  history. 

249 


250     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

As  for  Mrs.  Gregory  Compton  all  they  knew  of  her 
in  her  present  stage  of  development  was  favourable,  al 
though  several  had  a  lively  remembrance  of  the  rosy  black- 
haired  Ida  Hook  delivering  her  excellent  mother's  laundry 
work  at  their  back  door,  and  receiving  more  or  less  of  her 
"cheek."  But  they  had  heard,  at  the  time,  of  her  lessons 
with  Professor  Whalen,  and  of  Ora  Blake's  coincident  in 
terest.  Of  her  social  advantages  and  triumphs  in  Europe 
the  press  had  kept  them  informed ;  she  returned  to  Butte, 
in  fact,  as  one  new-born.  Moreover,  she  now  owned  one 
of  the  finest  houses  in  the  city  for  entertaining,  they  knew 
that  she  had  elected  to  shine  in  Butte  rather  than  in 
London  (that  Mecca  of  so  many  quick-rich  women  without 
position  in  their  own  country)  ;  and  above  all  she  was  the 
wife  of  Gregory  Compton,  the  man  in  whom  Montana  was 
beginning  to  feel  assured  it  could  take  an  unequivocal 
pride,  not  only  for  his  diabolical  cleverness,  but  because 
he  was  as  "straight"  as  the  Twentieth  Century  in  the 
United  States  of  America  would  permit.  Butte  felt  de 
voutly  grateful  to  Ida  for  being  and  returning,  and,  with 
that  utter  lack  of  affectation  that  characterised  it,  began 
calling  two  days  after  her  arrival. 

Ida  would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  Ora's  support  and 
advice  during  this  ordeal — which  caused  her  far  more 
apprehension  than  ducal  week-ends.  But  she  summoned 
all  her  acquired  knowledge  and  tact,  fortified  it  with  her 
native  and  supreme  confidence  in  herself,  and  made  no 
mistakes.  Butte  was  charmed  with  the  severe  rich  gowns 
that  set  off  her  haughty  head  and  warmly  colored  face 
and  the  long,  flowing,  yet  stately  lines  of  her  beautiful 
figure;  charmed  also  with  a  manner  that  was  both  simple 
and  dignified.  She  showed  no  enthusiasm  at  being  taken 
up  so  promptly,  neither  did  she  quite  accept  it  as  a  matter- 
of-course.  If  her  talk  ranged  freely  over  common  ac 
quaintance  in  London,  the  Paris  dressmakers  of  the  season, 
the  new  opera,  the  plays  of  the  moment  in  New  York,  it 
was  without  glibness,  and  she  took  a  firm  hold  on  the 
older  and  more  important  women  of  the  community  by  con 
fiding  to  them  that  she  should  not  make  her  first  venture 
in  the  difficult  art  of  entertaining  until  her  friend  Mrs. 
Blake  returned  to  help  her  through  the  novitiate.  Many 
of  the  younger  women  were  the  wives  of  Amalgamated 
officials  and  attorneys,  or  of  men  in  a  relationship  to  that 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     251 

nighty  power  but  one  degree  further  removed;  but  the 
Tien  individually  were  too  broad-minded  to  cherish  a  per 
sonal  grudge  against  Compton,  and  they  were,  moreover, 
juite  as  eager  as  their  mates  to  meet  his  handsome  wife. 

During  the  ensuing  fortnight  Ida  dined  out  every  night, 
svent  to  a  bridge  party  every  afternoon,  as  well  as  to 
several  luncheons,  teas,  and  dances.  She  wore  a  different 
3ostume  every  time  she  appeared  in  public;  but  although 
here  was  at  the  moment  nothing  in  Butte  to  compare  with 
ler  gowns  she  never  produced  the  effect  of  outshining  the 
)ther  women  by  anything  but  her  beauty  and  individual 
ityle.  In  short  her  success  was  so  immediate  and  so  final 
hat,  although  she  liked  these  ladies  of  her  native  town 
jven  better  than  she  had  anticipated,  her  rapid  conquest 
oon  lost  its  novelty,  and  she  wished  that  Ora  would  return ; 
lot  only  because  she  missed  her  increasingly,  but  because 
;o  entertain  in  her  great  house  would  give  her  a  new  and 
•eally  poignant  excitement,  and  lift  her  definitely  from 
;he  rank&  of  the  merely  received. 

Gregory  telephoned  every  few  days,  and  never  twice  at 
he  same  hour.  When  she  found  herself  restlessly  awaiting 
;he  ring  of  the  instrument,  she  dashed  out  of  the  house 
mgrily  and  took  a  walk.  If  she  found  upon  her  return 
;hat  he  had  called  her  up,  she  felt  that  he  had  given  her 
he  excuse  to  telephone  to  him,  and  she  soon  learned  at 
vhat  hours  she  could  find  him  either  in  his  cabin  or  down 
n  the  mine,  where  he  had  a  booth.  She  was  furious  at 
#hat  she  called  her  raging  female  vanity,  and  if  she  could 
lave  found  another  man  to  assuage  it  she  would  not  have 
lesitated  to  press  him  into  service  at  whatever  cost  to 
limself.  But,  as  happens  more  often  than  not,  there  was 
lot  an  unmarried  man  in  Butte  old  enough  to  be  worthy 
)f  a  fastidious  woman's  notice.  She  would  have  yawned 
n  the  face  of  "Brownies",  and,  although  more  than  one 
Coving  husband  would  have  placed  himself  at  her  dis 
posal,  she  was  the  last  woman  to  court  scandal  or  even 
gossip.  She  longed  for  the  advent  of  Lord  John  Mowbray, 
whose  gayety  would  distract  her  mind,  and  whose  devotion 
make  her  forget  that  she  was  a  neglected  wife.  She  could' 
throw  dust  into  the  eyes  of  Butte  by  pretending  to  be  his 
matrimonial  sponsor. 

But  for  the  first  time  she  wished  that  she  had  children. 
The  great  house  seemed  to  demand  the  patter  of  small 


252     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

feet,  the  slamming  of  doors,  a  row  of  naughty  faces  peer 
ing  over  the  banister  of  the  second  floor.  It  was  terribly 
silent.  And  yet  she  had  felt  settled  down  in  that  house 
at  once,  so  long  had  one  of  its  kind  been  the  object  of  her 
unswerving  desire ;  its  atmosphere  already  seemed  to  hang 
listless  with  ennui.  She  subscribed  to  both  the  state  and 
city  suffrage  fund,  for  she  felt  a  new  sympathy  for  women 
who  were  trying  to  fill  their  lives,  and  sincerely  hoped 
they  would  invent  some  game  that  would  make  them  in 
dependent  of  men. 

Seventeen  days  after  her  return  she  was  sitting  in  the 
library,  trying  to  forget  her  solitary  luncheon  in  a  novel 
when  she  heard  the  front  door  bell  ring.  Her  serv 
ants  were  amiable  but  not  too  competent,  and  she  waited 
impatiently  and  in  vain  for  one  of  them  to  answer  the 
summons.  She  restrained  the  impulse  to  open  the  door 
herself.  This  was  now  an  obsolete  custom  among  her  new 
acquaintance ;  although  having  the  front  door  shut  in 
one's  face  while  the  colored  maid  took  one's  card  to  the 
lady  of  the  stately  mansion  was  hardly  an  improvement, 
and  this  had  been  her  experience  a  day  or  two  ago.  She 
rang  the  bell  in  the  library.  Still  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
from  the  high-priced  young  women  who  doubtless  were 
gossiping  over  the  back  fence.  Ida's  curiosity  overcame 
her.  The  hour  was  too  early  for  callers.  It  might  be  a 
cable.  She  stole  to  the  front  door  and  peered  through  its 
curtain  of  Honiton  lace.  Then  she  gave  a  war  whoop  which 
would  have  horrified  her  servants — who,  careless  as  they 
were,  stood  in  awe  of  her — flung  the  door  open,  caught  Ora 
in  her  arms  and  almost  carried  her  into  the  library. 

"Good  Lord,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you!"  she  cried.  "I'm 
just  about  dead  of  lonesomeness.  Why  didn't  you  tele 
graph?  I'd  have  met  you  if  your  train  didn't  get  in  till 
two  in  the  morning." 

Ora  laughed  and  disentangled  herself,  although  she 
kissed  Ida  warmly.  "I  just  got  in — came  here  on  the 
way  from  the  station  and  sent  my  bags  to  the  house — 
but  I  always  did  hate  to  be  met.  How  beautiful  your 
house  is." 

' '  It 's  all  right.  But  it 's  about  as  cheerful  to  live  alone 
in  as  one  of  those  palaces  in  the  Via  Garibaldi !  My,  but 
I'm  glad  you're  here.  You're  the  only  person  I  ever 
missed,  and  being  a  real  lady  for  weeks  on  end  is  telling  on 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     253 

my  plebeian  health.  I  didn't  have  any  relief  even  in  New 
York.  How's  Mark?" 

''Quite  well,  except  for  his  broken  leg." 

"Is  he  here?" 

"Oh,  no— I  left  him  in  Santa  Barbara — that  is  to  say 
at  the  Club  House  at  Montecito,  the  fashionable  suburb. 
He  has  a  jolly  circle  of  friends  there,  and  has  no  desire  to 
travel  any  further  until  he  can  walk." 

Ida  put  her  hands  on  Ora's  shoulders  and  turned  her 
round  to  the  light.  " What's  up?"  she  demanded.  "You 
look  fine,  as  pretty  as  a  picture— but— different,  somehow." 

"I've  left  Mark." 

Ida  glanced  into  the  hall.  The  opening  of  back  doors 
indicated  that  one  of  the  maids  had  condescended  to  re 
member  she  was  a  wage  earner.  "Let's  go  upstairs,"  said 
Ida ;  and  as  they  crossed  the  hall  she  said  to  the  girl  who 
was  hastening  to  the  front  door  with  a  propitiating  smile, 
"You're  just  about  ten  minutes  too  late,  as  usual,  and  the 
next  time  it  happens  you  lose  your  job.  I'm  not  the  sort 
that  sits  down  and  wails  over  the  servant  question.  This 
house  will  be  run  properly  if  I  have  to  send  East  for  help. 
Now  put  on  your  hat  and  run  down  to  Mrs.  Blake's  house 
and  bring  up  her  bags,  and  tell  them  to  send  her  trunks 
here" 

"Yes,  you're  going  to  stay  with  me  for  the  present," 
she  said,  as  Ora  protested.  "Don't  say  another  word 
about  it." 

Ora  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  when  they  were  in 
Ida's  bedroom  she  took  off  her  hat  and  coat  and  wandered 
about  aimlessly  for  a  few  moments.  Ida  was  almost  breath 
less  with  impatience  and  a  curious  sense  of  apprehension 
that  vaguely  recalled  the  strange  terror  Ora  had  inspired 
on  the  day  of  their  meeting.  Ora  wore  a  blue  frock,  and 
Ida  noticed  that  the  yellow  room  did  not  dim  her  fair 
radiance.  If  possible  she  was  holding  her  head  higher  than 
usual,  her  skin  "gleamed"  more  than  ever,  there  was  a 
curious  light  in  her  always  brilliant  eyes,  half  defiant,  half 
exultant. 

"Do  sit  down!"  said  Ida  sharply,  cutting  short  Ora's 
voluble  approval  of  the  room.  "There,  that's  right,"  as 
Ora  flung  herself  into  a  chair.  "Now,  fire  away.  You're 
brimming  over  with  something.  Do  you  mean  that  you've 
left  Mark  for  good  and  all?" 


254     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 


"Yes." 

" Told  him  so?" 


Ora  nodded. 

"Did  you  tell  him  about  Valdobia,  or  what?  For  heav 
en  's  sake  open  up. ' ' 

"No,  I — I  thought  I  wouldn't  tell  him  everything  at 
once.  I  told  him  that  I  meant  to  spend  the  rest  of  my 
life  in  Europe,  and  that  it  was  only  fair  to  himself  to 
divorce  me — he  can  do  it  easily  on  the  ground  of  desertion 
— and  marry  some  one  who  would  make  a  real  home  for 
him — make  him  happy/' 

"Ah!  Mark's  the  sort  women  marry  but  don't  fall  in 
love  with.  And  what  did  he  say  when  you  handed  him 
that?" 

"He  was  rather  broken  up." 

"Eeally!  And  you?  I  always  had  an  idea  that  when 
it  came  to  the  point  you  wouldn't  do  it.  You  have  high- 
falutin'  notions  about  honor,  noblesse  oblige,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it,  to  say  nothing  of  being  really  soft,  as  I  once  told 
you.  There's  only  one  thing  that  would  make  you  hard — 
to  everyone  else — and  that's  being  in  love " 

"That  is  it!"  exclaimed  Ora  eagerly.  "I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  marry  Valdobia.  I  wasn't  so  sure  when 
I  left  Europe,  but  you  know  what  separation  often 
does " 

"Yes,"  said  Ida  dryly,  "I  do.    Well,  Mark  will  have  to. 
take  his  medicine,  I  guess.    I've  never  doubted,  since  Val 
dobia  joined  us  in  Genoa,  that  he  was  the  man  for  you. 
It's  fate,  I  guess.    But  tell  me  what  Mark  said,  after  all. 
Did  he  consent?" 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do.  He  knew  I  meant  it. 
I  broke  it  to  him  by  degrees.  Besides,  he  knew  how  it  was 
long  before  I  left  for  Europe.  He  had  practically  given 
me  up.  Of  course  he  was  fond  of  me — I  had  become  a 
habit  and  made  him  comfortable,  besides  being  useful  to 
him — but — well,  I  gave  him  six  years — my  youth!"  she 
burst  out  passionately.  "What  wouldn't  I  give  to  wipe 
out  those  years,  be  twenty  again  and  free !  I  tried  to  make 
him  understand  that  I  was  no  longer  in  the  least  like  the 
bewildered  undeveloped  girl  he  had  married;  and  that  I 
bore  as  little  resemblance  to  the  intellectual  automaton  I 
made  of  myself  later.  I  told  him  that  I  was  awake  once 
for  all,  and  that  rather  than  live  again  with  a  man  I! 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     255 

couldn't  care  for  I'd  be  boiled  in  oil.     Then  he  under 
stood.  " 

* '  I  should  think  he  might !  Of  course  he  asked  if  there 
was  another  man  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  but  I  told  him  that  was  neither  here  nor  there; 
that  in  any  case  I  should  leave  him  and  live  in  Europe. " 

"Poor  Mark!    Tied  by  the  leg,  and  lost  in  the  shuffle!" 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  have  nothing  in  me  for 
Mark  and  that  if  I  cared  as  little  for  Valdobia  it  would 
only  be  fair  to  give  him  a  second  throw  for  happiness. 
When  I  left  him  he  was  quite  resigned,  and  we  have  agreed 
to  remain  the  best  of  friends.  I  shall  leave  him  my  power 
of  attorney  as  before,  and  he  will  continue  to  manage  my 
affairs/' 

"How  much  more  sensible  we  are  in  our  Twentieth  Cen 
tury  !  No  doubt  he  will  visit  you  in  the  Palazzo  Valdobia 
when  he  takes  a  whirl  at  Europe." 

"Why  not?  But  tell  me  you  think  I  did  right,  Ida?" 
Ora's  voice  was  very  sweet  and  plaintive. 

"You  did  what  you  were  bound  to  do,  I  guess,  when  you 
met  a  man  that  could  throw  a  lariat  round  the  neck  of  that 
romantic  imagination  of  yours.  Eight?  I  don't  know.  I 
guess  I  Ve  got  the  same  old  streak  of  Puritan  Americanism 
in  me,  although  if  other  people  want  to  have  liaisons  and 
divorces  it's  none  of  my  affair.  Women  will  do  more 
and  more  as  they  damn  please,  I  guess,  men  having  set 
them  such  a  good  example  for  a  few  centuries.  But  I 
simply  hate  the  idea  of  losing  you.  I  want  you  right  here 
in  Butte.  Lord,  I  Ve  almost  forgotten  my  slang ! ' ' 

Ora  laughed  with  something  like  her  old  merriment. 
"Oh,  you'll  have  me  for  an  escape  valve  for  a  while  yet. 
Valdobia 's  mother  is  dying  of  some  lingering  horrible 
disease.  It  wouldn't  be  decent  for  me  to  go  to  Rome,  and 
I  should  be  lonely  anywhere  else.  So,  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  stay  here  during  the  summer  at  least,  and  realise 
a  dream  I  used  to  indulge  in  before  I  ever  knew  I  could 
fall  in  love."  Once  more  she  looked  straight  at  Ida,  this 
time  with  the  slow  expectant  smile  of  a  child.  "I'm 
going  to  reopen  my  mine  and  run  it  myself — of  course  I 
shall  have  a  manager.  Mark  has  written,  or  telegraphed, 
to  Mr.  Compton  to  find  one  for  me — but  I  shall  live  out 
there  and  go  down  every  day,  and  make  believe  I  am  doing 
something,  too — at  all  events  realise  that  it  is  my  mine. 


256     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Mining  has  always — that  is,  always  did  fascinate  me  more 
than  anything  else  on  earth.  I  shall  be  devoted  to  Valdo- 
bia  when  I  am  married  to  him,  but  I  simply  must  have  that 
adventure  first " 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  go  dotty  like  Gregory  over 
a  hole  in  the  ground.  If  you  get  that  bee  buzzing  round 
in  your  skull  I  pity  poor  Valdobia.  If  it  were  not  for  his 
mother  I'd  cable  to  him  to  come  out " 

Ora's  face  set  with  a  hardness  that  arrested  Ida's  ob 
servant  eye.  "Don't  you  do  anything  of  the  sort.  Mark 
said  once  about  my  father,  'It  was  characteristic  of  him 
that  when  he  quit  he  quit  for  good.'  I  am  always  discov 
ering  more  and  more  of  my  father  in  me.  I  '11  live  that  old 
dream  and  it  will  finish  when  Valdobia  and  I  both  are  free. 
Then  I  shall  wipe  it  off  the  slate — consign  it  to  limbo." 
She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stretched  out  her  arms.  ' '  I  am 
going  to  do  exactly  as  I  please  as  long  as  I  am  free.  Of 
course  I  am  mad  about  Yaldobia — you  know  that  I 
wouldn't  marry  him  if  I  were  not — but  I  am  mad  too  about 
liberty  and  my  mine.  This  is  my  only  chance.  And  I  am 
a  Montanan,  born  in  the  Eocky  Mountains.  I  want  some 
thing  of  the  life  that  has  made  my  state  famous  before  I 
become  a  European.  I've  never  had  anything  of  her  but 
Butte.  I  want  the  wild  mountains — I  want,  above  all, 
the  mine  that  has  given  me  my  freedom.  I'm  going  to 
wear  overalls  and  go  down  into  the  mine  every  day." 

' '  A  sweet  sight  you  '11  be ! "  said  Ida  disgustedly.  ' '  And 
the  miners — Oh,  they'll  just  love  the  idea  of  having  a 
woman  at  their  heels !  What  on  earth  has  got  hold  of  you  ? 
It 's  the  only  time  I  've  ever  known  you  to  get  off  your  base. 
Why,  there's  nothing  a  woman  can  do  at  a  mine  unless 
she's  a  graduated  mining  engineer,  and  nothing  then  that 
a  man  couldn't  do  better.  You'll  be  in  the  way  and  you'll 
soon  be  bored  to  death  yourself.  If  you're  so  crazy  about 
Montana  why  don't  you  do  some  of  those  great  things  for 
her  that  your  father  suggested?  And  how  do  you  recon 
cile  your  marriage  to  an  Italian  with  your  devotion  to 
your  father's  memory?" 

Ora  turned  away  her  head.  "My  father  gave  me  too 
much  of  himself  to  expect  me  to  play  the  role  of  minister 
ing  angel  to  anything.  I  intend  to  invest  in  Montana  the 
greater  part  of  all  that  I  take  out  of  my  mine.  If  it  gives 
me  one  of  the  great  fortunes  I  shall  endow  my  state  in 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     257 

some  way — as  Mark  may  suggest.  But  I  cannot  live  here. 
That  is  for  ever  settled.  When  I  go  to  Europe  I  shall 
never  return — not  even  to  America.  I  shall  forget  my  life 
here,  everything  connected  with  it — everything!  One 
side  of  me  is  already  European.  I  shall  become 
wholly  so.'7 

"Somehow,"  said  Ida  slowly,  and  with  the  sensation^  of 
being  so  close  to  something  that  she  couldn't  see  it,  "I 
don't  get  the  idea  that  you're  so  mad  about  Valdobia. 
Long  since  I  figured  that  when  you  did  love  a  man  you'd 
be  a  sort  of  white  pillar  of  flame  about  him.  I  firmly 
believe  that  Valdobia  is  the  man  for  you,  but,  well— he  fell 
too  quickly.  He  didn't  make  you  suffer,  never  kept  you 
guessing  for  a  minute.  The  women  that  turn  men's  heads 
are  a  good  deal  like  men  themselves;  they've  got  to  be 
hurt  hard  and  kept  on  tenterhooks  before  they  are  in  a 
condition  to  accommodate  the  virus.  You  are  fond  of 
Valdobia,  and  well  you  may  be,  but  mad  isn't  the  right 
word " 

' '  Oh,  yes  it  is !  It  is ! "  Ora  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  room.  "You  must  believe  that  I  love  him  as  I  never 
dreamed  I  could  love  anybody— 

"Hi!"  cried  Ida.  "Your  letter-man!  That's  what! 
You  were  more  nearly  in  love  with  him  than  you  are  with 
Valdobia,  and  because,  for  some  reason  or  other,  you 
couldn't  get  him.  Where  is  he?" 

Ora's  eyes  looked  large  and  blank.  "That!  I  had  quite 
forgotten  it.  It  was  the  last  of  a  long  line  of  mental  love 
affairs.  Those  always  evaporate  even  from  the  memory 
when  the  real  man  comes  along. ' '  She  sighed  heavily  and 
sat  down  once  more.  "I  know  that  I  shall  be  happy  with 
Valdobia,  only  I  am  not  happy  now.  That  is  so  far  off! 
And  of  course  I  feel  badly  about  poor  Mark.  But  I 
couldn't  help  it.  Not  to  do  it  would  have  been  worse.  And 
I  should  go  off  my  head  meanwhile  if  I  didn't  have  this 
mine.  Do  you  think  I  could  remain  here  in  Butte  and  go  to 
dinners  and  bridge  parties?  I  should  scream  in  their 
faces.  I  must  have  work.  Be  sure  I  can  find  something 
to  do  at  the  mine — I  suppose  there  are  a  laboratory  and 
assay  office.  And  there  will  always  be  the  excitement  of 
hoping  to  find  free  milling  gold — at  present  what  could 
be  more  exciting  than  to  drift  for  that  lost  vein?" 

"It  wouldn't  keep  me  awake  nights.     But  have  your 


258     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

own  way.    I  don't  want  you  down  with  nerves,  and  that 
will  happen  if  you  don't  look  out." 

"If  I  don't  get  my  own  way." 

"Exactly.  But  I  wish  your  way  marched  with  mine. 
I've  missed  you  like  fury — Say! — here's  an  idea:  I'll  go 
back  to  Europe  with  you  now  if  you  like,  and  stay  until 
you  marry.  There  are  lots  of  places  we  planned  to  go  to 
and  didn't " 

"Ida,  you  are  a  dear!     And  you  longed  so  for  Butte. 
"Why  it  would  be  like  tearing  an  author  from  his  unfinished 
magnum  opus.     Besides — well — you  have  a  husband- 
On,  Lord !  Gregory  is  running  the  Universe  at  present. 
Women  don't  exist  for  him.     Shall  we  go?" 

Ora  shook  her  head.  Her  face  had  turned  from  white 
to  pale.  "No.  I  must  spend  these  last  months  of  my 
freedom  here  in  my  state.  And  that  lost  vein — it  pulls 
me.  I  must  have  that  life  for  a  few  months — for  the  first 
and  last  time.  You— you — might  spend  your  week-ends 
with  me." 

Ida  scowled  and  turned  away  her  head.  She  had  no 
intention  of  admitting  even  to  Ora  that  Gregory  delib 
erately  avoided  her.  "Not  I.  I  hate  the  sight  of  the  De 
Smet  ranch.  Go,  if  you  like,  but  I  feel  sure  you  will 
come  in  often.  And  before  you  go  I  wish  you  would  do 
me  a  favour." 

|| Of  course  I  will." 

"Let  me  give  you  a  dinner.  I  want  to  begin  that  sort 
of  thing  and  you'll  furnish  the  excuse  besides  helping  me 
out." 

"Very  well.  Have  it  soon.  I  want  to  go  to  the  mine 
as  quickly  as  possible.  I  shall  begin  to  send  out  the  furni 
ture  for  my  bungalow  tomorrow." 

"A  week's  notice  will  be  enough.  I'll  write  the  invita 
tions  today.  There's  another  reason  I  want  to  give  this 

dinner.     Gregory  hasn't  been  seen  anywhere  with  me 

hates  going  out.  But  I  shall  make  him  understand  that 
he  must  come  to  my  first  dinner — or  people  will  be  talk 
ing—and  I  hate  people  prying  into  my  affairs.  Besides,  it 
will  be  his  duty  to  you  as  the  wife  of  his  best  friend. 
(He  needn't  know  you've  left  Mark  yet  awhile.)  I'm  not 
hankering  for  the  role  of  the  neglected  wife ;  and  I  'm  sick 
of  making  excuses.  For  all  Butte  knew  I  might  not  have 
laid  eyes  on  my  husband  since  my  return." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     259 

And  although  she  spoke  bravely  Ora  knew  that  she  had 
not.  "Well  have  the  dinner, 'r  she  said  warmly.  "And 
it  will  be  great  fun  to  get  it  up " 

"Now,  come  this  minute  and  go  to  bed.  You  are  to 
stay  with  me  as  long  as  you  are  in  this  camp,  and  I'm 
going  to  tone  you  up,  and  make  you  rest  as  we  used  to 
in  Europe  every  afternoon — hard  work  in  this  altitude 
but  it  can  be  done.  I've  got  to  go  to  a  bridge  party  now, 
and  you  are  to  sleep.  If  you  feel  rested  when  I  get 
back,  1 11  call  up  two  or  three  of  your  old  friends  and  ask 
them  to  come  informally  to  dinner.  So  long. ' ' 

She  closed  the  door  of  her  best  spare  room  on  Ora  and 
walked  slowly  back  to  her  own,  her  brows  drawn;  once 
more  quick  with  a  sensation  of  profound  uneasiness,  of 
being  close  to  something  that  she  could  not  see.  But  it 
was  not  her  habit  to  ponder  for  long  over  the  elusive  and 
obscure.  "Guess  I'm  worried  about  Ora's  health,"  she 
thought  impatiently,  and  rang  for  her  maid. 


VI 

days  later   Gregory  received  the   following  note 
from  his  wife: 

DEAR  GREGORY: 

Ora  is  here,  and  before  going  out  to  the  mine  has  promised  to  help 
me  through  the  ordeal  of  my  first  big  dinner.  Entertaining  goes  with 
this  house,  and  although  I  am  beginning  somewhat  sooner,  perhaps, 
than  is  necessary,  I  have  my  reasons.  I  have  asked  twenty-four 
people,  the  most  important  of  the  older  and  the  younger  married 
sets.  The  dinner  is  to  be  at  eight  o'clock  Tuesday.  I  want  you  to 
come.  You  have  been  very  generous,  but  there  is  one  thing  more 
that  you  can  do  for  me  and  I  feel  that  I  have  the  right  to  demand 
it.  If  you  no  longer  care  for  me,  that  is  something  I  cannot  help; 
nor  you  either  for  that  matter.  But  so  far  as  the  world  knows,  I  am 
your  wife,  and  if  we  are  never  seen  together  there  is  bound  to  be 
disagreeable  gossip.  I  don't  want  to  be  gossipped  about.  It  is  vul 
gar  and  it  complicates  life.  The  Butte  women  I  most  wanted  to 
know  are  all  right,  but  the  town  has  the  usual  allowance  of  fools  and 
scandal-mongers.  By  showing  yourself  at  my  first  dinner  in  your 
own  house  you  will  muzzle  them.  You  can  arrive  in  time  for  dinner 
and  take  a  late  train  back  to  Pony,  if  there  is  one.  But  please  come. 
I  am  sure  if  you  think  it  over  you  will  admit  that  I  am  merely  prov 
ing  my  new  knowledge  of  the  world  in  asking  for  your  formal  pro 
tection. 

IDA. 

Gregory  read  this  note  hastily  when  he  found  it  in  his 
morning  mail-bag  in  company  with  many  business  letters, 
to  which  he  also  gave  scant  attention:  he  was  in  haste  to 
go  underground.  There  was  still  no  sign  of  the  lost  vein, 
and  nineteen  days  of  the  three  weeks'  limit  he  had  set 
himself  were  gone.  But  they  broke  into  it  that  same 
afternoon.  He  barely  left  the  mine  until  the  following 
morning,  but  he  finally  sought  his  cabin  and  bed  satisfied 
that  the  recovered  vein  of  copper  pyrite  was,  like  the 
original,  six  feet  thick  and  as  rich  in  values.  When  he 
awoke  he  remembered  Ida's  note,  and  although  it  had  pro 
voked  a  frown  of  annoyance  when  he  read  it,  his  spirits 
were  now  so  ebullient  that  he  not  only  admitted  the  justice 

260 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     261 

of  her  demand,  but  would  have  granted  almost  anyone  a 
reasonable  request. 

Moreover,  as  he  reread  the  note,  its  restraint  and  dig 
nity  struck  him  forcibly,  as  well  as  its  remote  likeness  to 
the  Ida  Hook  he  had  wooed  in  Nine  Mile  Canon.  Certainly 
she  had  made  the  most  of  her  opportunities! 

And  apparently  she  had  recovered  from  her  first  disap 
pointment,  or  pique — if,  indeed,  she  had  felt  either — and 
he  assumed  that  the  last  year,  crowded  with  exceptional 
experiences,  had  made  her  over  into  something  like  a 
woman  of  the  world.  No  doubt  among  her  many  accom 
plishments  she  had  acquired  self-control.  (That  she  might 
also  have  acquired  finesse  did  not  occur  to  him.)  He 
dismissed  the  fear  that  she  would  make  a  scene — and 
himself  thoroughly  uncomfortable.  On  the  whole  it  would 
be  interesting  to  see  Ida  as  a  bird  of  paradise.  He  remem 
bered  her  in  shirtwaists  and  serviceable  skirts,  and  re 
called  that  he  had  sometimes  thought  it  a  pity  she  should 
not  have  the  plumage  worthy  of  her  beauty  and  style. 

And  if  the  fates  had  willed  that  he  must  meet  Ora 
Blake  again  he  preferred  that  the  first  interview  should 
be  in  public. 

He  rang  up  Pony  and  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  was 
connected  with  Butte. 

' '  Hello ! "  he  said  cordially,  as  he  heard  his  wife 's  voice. 
''Got  your  letter,  but  couldn't  find  time  to  answer  before, 
I'll  come  to  the  dinner  with  pleasure." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad."  Ida's  tones  were  crisp  and  cool. 
There  was  none  of  the  husky  warmth  that  Gregory  sud 
denly  remembered;  nor  any  of  the  old  common  inflection. 
"Are  your  evening  togs  at  Mark's?" 

"Yes,  will  you  send  for  them?" 

"I'll  have  everything  here  in  one  of  the  spare  rooms. 
The  maid  will  show  you  up  if  you  are  late.  It  takes  me 
hours  to  dress." 

"All  right.  Say — Ida — I  wish  you'd  persuade  Mrs. 
Blake  to  give  up  that  idea  of  coming  out  here.  It  won't 
work.  She'll  only  be  in  the  way  of  the  men,  and  if  there 
was  a  big  row  on  would  be  one  more  responsibility  for  her 
manager.  I  suppose  she  knows  I've  opened  up  her  mine. 
Besides,  it's  no  place  for  a  woman  anyhow.  There  are 
only  a  few  women — miners'  wives — in  my  camp;  none  in 
the  others." 


262     PERCH    OF,    THE    DEVIL 


i  ( 


I've  told  her  all  that.  But — well — you  don't  know 
Ora.  Gambling — taking  long  chances — is  in  her  blood,  I 
guess.  You  should  have  seen  her  at  Monte  Carlo.  You 
must  take  in  Mrs.  Cameron,  but  I  am  putting  Ora  on  your 
left  as  it  is  time  you  two  got  acquainted.  Try  to  dissuade 
her.  I  want  her  to  stay  here  with  me." 

"I'll  do  my  best.  How  are  you  getting  on?  Butte  still 
panning  out  ? ' ' 

"I  adore  Butte  and  find  nothing  to  change.  It's  too 
wonderful — to  have  all  your  old  dreams  come  true  like 
this!  I  hope  your  mine  is  behaving.  I  heard  a  rumour 
the  other  day  that  you  had  lost  your  vein " 

"Just  found  it  again!" 

Ida  noted  the  exultant  ring  of  his  voice,  and  was  about 
to  laugh  when  she  changed  her  tactics  swiftly.  "Good! 
I  know  just  how  fine  you  feel — and  that  it  wasn't  the  loss 
of  money  that  worried  you  either.  Well,  the  dinner  will 
be  a  sort  of  celebration.  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye."  There  was  a  faint  accent  of  surprise  in 
Gregory's  voice.  Ida  smiled  and  returned  to  her  inter 
rupted  toilette. 

"Just  let  me  get  a  good  chance  at  him  once  more,"  she 
thought.  "I'll  be  eating  copper  before  I  get  through,  but 
I  don't  know  him  or  his  sex  if  he  won't  be  nibbling  off 
the  same  chunk." 


vn 

HHHE  next  week  was  the  busiest  she  had  ever  known. 
*-  All  the  people  that  had  called  on  her  called  again  on 
Ora.  Her  cook  collapsed  when  told  to  prepare  a  dinner 
for  twenty-eight  people,  and  Ida,  who  would  not  hearken 
to  a  public  caterer  and  his  too  familiar  idiosyncrasies, 
telegraphed  to  St.  Paul  for  a  chef.  What  moments  she 
had  to  spare  after  consultations  with  this  autocrat,  with 
a  temperamental  designer  of  menu  cards,  and  with  two 
high-handed  young  women  whom  she  had  been  persuaded 
by  the  charitable  Mrs.  Cameron  to  engage  to  decorate  her 
rooms,  were  spent  with  certain  works  on  copper  and  min 
ing  that  she  had  procured  from  the  public  library. 

She  looked  forward  to  the  evening  of  her  dinner  party 
with  a  secret  excitement  that  seemed  to  fork  its  lightning 
into  every  recess  of  her  brain,  and  electrify  it  with  a  sense 
of  the  fulness  of  life — that  hinted  intoxicatingly  of  life's 
perfections.  Not  only  was  she  to  live  the  wildest  dream 
of  Ida  Hook,  but  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  bring  the 
most  important  man  in  Montana  to  her  feet  on  that 
triumphant  night.  That  the  man  was  her  husband,  won 
the  first  time  without  an  effort,  lost  through  her  own  indif 
ference  and  ignorance,  added  tenfold  to  the  zest  of  the 
game.  She  knew  the  impression  he  must  retain  of  her: 
crude,  obvious  in  her  sex  allurement,  cheaply  dressed,  a 
sort  of  respectable  mining  camp  siren ;  all  her  fascinations 
second-rate,  and  her  best  points  in  the  eyes  of  an  absent- 
minded  husband  her  good-natured  mothering  and  admir 
able  cooking. 

If  she  had  returned  to  find  him  as  she  had  left  him,  a 
mere  brilliant  hard-working  student,  and  automatically  at 
tentive  to  his  home  partner,  no  doubt  she  would  have 
slipped  into  her  original  role  at  once,  for  she  was  normally 
amiable,  and  she  had  strict  ideas  of  wifely  duties,  which  her 
insistent  vanity  and  deliberate  flirtations  never  for  a  mo 
ment  endangered.  They  also  filled  the  practical  wants  of 

263 


264     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

a  nature  not  derived  from  artistic  ancestors.  She  had  had 
her  "flyer",  and,  allowing  for  social  triumphs,  returned 
to  Butte  to  settle  down ;  although  it  had  been  with  a  cer 
tain  complacency  that  she  had  reflected  during  the  home 
ward  journey  upon  the  altered  circumstances  which  would 
enable  her  to  live  like  a  civilised  being  in  her  own  apart 
ments  and  see  far  less  of  her  husband  than  formerly. 

Her  complacency  had  been  treated  to  a  succession  of 
shocks  since  her  return ;  it  had,  in  fact,  finally  gasped  out 
its  life;  although  it  had  left  self-confidence  behind  to  sit 
at  the  feet  of  her  shrewd  clear  mind.  She  found  a  zest 
entirely  new  in  bringing  to  his  knees  a  man  who  had 
been  her  husband  when  she  was  too  raw  and  conceited 
to  appreciate  him,  who  had  developed  into  a  personage, 
and  who  had  conquered  his  mere  maleness  and  put  women 
out  of  his  life:  she  had  consulted  a  detective  agency  and 
convinced  herself  that  her  only  rival  was  the  mine.  Ida 
was  nothing  if  not  practical.  Before  preparing  for  her 
siege  she  chose  to  know  exactly  where  she  stood.  A  rival 
of  her  sex  would  have  demanded  one  sort  of  tactics;  a  mere 
mine  and  the  quickened  business  instinct  of  a  dreaming 
but  outclassing  brain,  although  she  did  not  underrate  their 
peculiar  dead  walls  and  buffers,  exacted  a  different  and 
more  impersonal  assault — at  first. 

Much  that  she  had  failed  to  understand  in  her  young 
husband  was  clear  to  her  now.  His  silences,  his  formidable 
powers  of  concentration,  his  habit  of  thinking  out  his 
purposes  unto  the  smallest  detail  before  verbal  expression, 
his  tendency  to  dream,  combined  with  lightning  processes 
of  thought,  were  the  indispensable  allies  of  his  peculiar 
gifts:  she  had  talked  with  too  many  brilliant  and  active 
men  during  the  past  year,  to  say  nothing  of  her  daily  asso 
ciation  with  Ora,  for  whose  inherited  and  progressive  in 
tellect  she  had  the  highest  respect,  and  her  own  develop 
ment  had  been  too  positive,  rapid,  and  normal,  not  to  be 
fuUy  aware  that  men  born  with  the  genius  to  conquer  life 
were  equipped  with  powerful  imaginations  that  necessarily 
made  them  silent  thinkers. 

She  had  become  intensely  proud  of  her  husband  since 
her  return,  and  his  neglect,  coupled  with  his  scrupulous 
generosity,  had  stung  her  pride  and  aroused  both  desire 
and  determination  to  recapture  what  she  had  lost.  She 
had  no  great  faith  in  her  capacity  for  love;  but  not  only 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     265 

was  she  fascinated  by  Gregory  for  the  first  time  but  she 
found  him  more  worthy  of  her  accomplished  coquetry  than 
any  man  she  had  met  in  Europe.  She  was  firm  in  her 
resolve  to  repossess  her  husband,  but  not  merely  to  satisfy 
that  pride  which  was  the  evolution  of  a  more  primitive 
vanity;  she  felt  a  certain  joyousness,  a  lilt  of  the  spirit, 
at  the  thought  of  spending  her  life  with  him,  of  being  the 
complete  helpmate  of  such  a  man;  even  a  disposition  to 
dream,  which  was  so  new  in  her  experience  that  she  ban 
ished  it  with  a  frown.  "If  I  let  go  like  other  fool  women, 
I'll  make  a  grand  mess  of  it,"  was  her  characteristic  re 
flection. 

She  was  dressing  for  the  dinner  when  she  heard  him 
enter  the  house.  The  parlourmaid  for  once  remembered 
her  instructions,  and  led  him  up  to  his  room,  which  was 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  from  his  wife's  and  at 
the  extreme  end.  Her  door  was  ajar,  she  heard  his  voice 
— whose  depth  and  richness  were  decimated  by  the  tele 
phone — his  light  foot  ascending  the  stair.  For  the  mo 
ment  she  lost  her  breath,  then  with  an  angry  jerk  of  the 
shoulders  regained  her  poise,  and,  in  tones  careless  enough 
to  reassure  any  husband  suddenly  overwhelmed  with  the 
awkwardness  of  his  position,  called  out: 

"Good  evening,  Gregory.  Hope  you'll  find  everything 
you  want  in  your  room.  Ring  if  you  don't.  See  you 
downstairs. ' ' 

"Oh — thanks!"  Gregory  swallowed  an  immense  sigh 
of  relief.  "I'll  be  on  time." 

Ida,  assisted  by  the  "upstairs  girl" — she  had  not  yet 
found  a  ladies'  maid  willing  to  come  to  Butte — continued 
her  toilette.  Her  gown  was  as  nearly  Renaissance  as  she 
thought  her  native  Northwest  would  stand  at  this  stage 
of  her  social  progress.  It  was  "built" — a  word  more  ap 
propriate  to  woman 's  dress  A.D.  1600  than  today  —  of 
heavy  turquoise-blue  brocade,  the  design  outlined  here 
and  there  with  gold  thread.  The  long  wrinkled  sleeves 
almost  covered  her  hands,  and,  like  the  deep  square  of 
the  neck,  were  tipped  with  fur.  Her  mass  of  blue-black 
hair  was  closely  twisted  around  her  head  from  brow  to  the 
nape  of  her  neck,  held  above  the  low  forehead  by  a  jewelled 
stiletto  Ora  had  given  her  in  Genoa,  ' '  to  remind  her  of  her 
midnight  diversions  in  the  Renaissance  palace  over  which 
her  dim  ancestral  memories  brooded."  This  she  had  dis- 


266     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

missed  as  damn  nonsense,  but  she  liked  the  stiletto  with 
its  rudely  set  stones,  and  had  promised  to  wear  it  the  first 
time  she  got  inside  one  of  her  near-Renaissance  gowns. 

The  pale  subtle  blue  of  the  dress  made  her  eyes  look 
light  and  altogether  blue,  the  thick  black  underlashes  and 
full  white  underlids  giving  them  an  expression  when  in 
repose  of  cold  voluptuousness.  Her  skin  against  the  dark 
edge  of  fur  was  as  white  as  warm  new  milk.  Her  costume 
and  her  regal  air  would  have  made  her  noticeable  in  the 
proudest  assemblage.  She  was  well  aware  that  not  only 
was  she  a  very  beautiful  woman  tonight  but  a  dangerous 
one.  And  she  might  have  stepped  from  one  of  the  tar 
nished  frames  in  the  Palazzo  Valdobia. 

After  the  maid  had  been  dismissed,  she  examined  her 
self  even  more  critically.  The  coral  of  lip  and  cheek,  while 
still  eloquent  of  youth  and  health,  was  more  delicate  than 
of  old ;  all  suggestion  of  buxomness  had  disappeared.  She 
looked  older  than  when  she  had  left  Butte;  the  casual 
observer  would  have  given  her  thirty  years;  her  cheeks 
were  less  full,  her  mouth  had  firmer  lines;  the  cold  grey- 
blue  eyes  more  depth,  justified  their  classic  setting.  Even 
her  profile,  released  by  the  finer  contour  of  cheek  and 
thrown  into  high  relief  by  the  severe  arrangement  of  her 
hair,  contributed  to  the  antique  harmonies  of  her  head  and 
form. 

" You '11  do,"  she  said  to  her  image,  and  went  down 
stairs. 

Several  guests  arrived  at  once  and  she  was  standing  be 
fore  her  antique  English  chimney-piece  carved  in  Califor 
nia,  chatting  with  three  of  them  when  Gregory  entered 
the  room.  She  nodded  amiably  as  if  they  had  met  too 
recently  for  formalities.  He  took  the  cue  and  paused  to 
exchange  a  few  words  with  two  men  that  stood  near  the 
door.  But  Ida  had  seen  the  startled  opening  of  his  nar 
row  eyes  which  meant  so  much  in  him.  She  also  noted 
that,  as  other  guests  came  in,  he  looked  at  her  again  and 
again.  In  truth  Gregory  was  startled  almost  out  (5f  his 
trained  stolidity.  He  had  known  a  certain  side  of  Ida's 
cleverness,  and  believed  when  he  sent  her  abroad  that  she 
would  make  much  of  her  opportunities,  the  greatest  of 
which  was  her  constant  association  with  Ora  Blake;  but 
that  she  would  return  in  less  than  a  year  looking  the  great 
lady,  and  the  handsomest  woman  he  had  ever  seen,  even 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     267 

his  energetic  imagination  had  failed  to  consider.  Magner 
tism,  as  of  old,  surrounded  her  like  an  aura,  but  to  this  he 
was  insensible,  his  own  magnetism  having  been  caught  and 
entangled  with  that  of  another.  He  felt  very  proud  of  his 
wife,  however,  and,  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  loyalty,  he 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  at  her  side.  He  also  was 
prompted  to  say  in  a  tone  pitched  to  reach  other  ears : 

"By  George,  you  are  simply  stunning.  I  haven't  seen 
this— a — frock — dress — before. ' ' 

"Gown,  my  dear,  gown.  It  only  arrived  a  few  days 
ago.  I  shall  take  you  to  Europe  with  me  next  time— 

1 '  Take  him  soon ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Cameron.  ' '  Don 't  give  him 
time  to  wear  out  before  he  has  begun  to  live.  Our  tired 
business  men!" 

"Next  year!"  said  Ida,  gayly.  "He  has  half-promised 
and  I'll  not  let  him  off."  As  she  looked  into  his  eyes 
with  bright  friendliness,  his  face  relaxed  with  the  smile 
which,  she  suddenly  remembered,  always  had  won  her  from 
anger  or  indifference.  He  was  openly  delighted  with  her, 
the  more  completely  as  he  was  both  puzzled  and  relieved  to 
see  that  those  splendid  eyes  held  neither  cold  anger  nor 
feminine  reproach.  Moreover,  although  they  softened  for 
an  instant  before  she  was  obliged  to  turn  away,  it  was  with 
an  expression  that  made  her  look  merely  sweet  and 
womanly,  not  in  the  least  coquette  or  siren.  Other  guests 
claimed  her  attention.  He  heard  her  give  a  little  hiss,  and 
saw  her  eyes  flash.  Then  he  forgot  her.  Ora  had  entered 
the  room. 

Her  gown,  of  some  soft  imponderable  fabric  that  gave  the 
impression  of  depth  in  colour,  was  the  peculiar  flaming  blue 
of  the  night  sky  of  Montana.  Gregory  was  reminded  in 
stantly  of  the  night  they  had  sat  on  the  steps  of  the 
School  of  Mines,  with  the  pulsing  sky  so  close  above  them. 
The  upper  part  of  the  gown  was  cut  in  points  that  curved 
above  her  slight  bust,  the  spaces  between  filled  with  snow- 
white  chiffon  which  appeared  to  be  folded  softly  about 
the  body.  She  wore  her  pearls,  but  at  the  base  of  her 
slender  throat  was  a  closely  fitting  string  of  Montana 
sapphires,  of  the  same  hot  almost  angry  blue.  Her  little 
head  with  its  masses  of  soft  ashen  hair  seemed  to  sway  on 
the  long  stem-like  neck,  her  stellar  eyes  blazed.  Her 
costume  extinguished  every  other  blue  in  the  room. 
"Really!"  said  Mrs.  Cameron,  whose  black  eyes  under 


268     PERCH    QF    THE    DEVIL 

her  coronet  of  iron  grey  hair  were  snapping,  "  these  two 
dear  friends  should  have  had  a  consultation  over  their 
costumes  for  tonight."  She  had  never  liked  Ora,  and 
although,  as  the  leader  of  Butte  society,  she  made  a  point 
of  speaking  well  of  all  whom  she  did  not  feel  obliged  to 
ignore,  she  had  taken  a  deep  liking  to  Ida;  moreover, 
always  a  handsome  woman  herself,  she  felt  both  sympa 
thetic  and  indignant.  This  was  Ida's  night,  and  she 
scented  treachery. 

She  had  addressed  her  remark  to  Gregory,  but  although 
he  looked  at  her  politely  he  would  not  have  heard  thunder 
crashing  on  the  roof.  He  wondered  if  he  were  standing 
erect;  he  had  a  confused  impression  that  that  wonderful 
blue  gown  was  burning  alcohol  whose  fumes  were  in  his 
head  and  whose  flames  swirled  through  all  his  senses.  And 
the  woman  within  those  curling  blue  flames  was  so  much 
more  beautiful  than  his  memory  of  her  that  he  forgot 
not  only  his  recent  tribute  to  Ida,  but  her  bare  existence 
until  she  tapped  him  sharply  on  the  arm. 

/'Dinner  has  been  announced,"  she  said.  "You  are 
to  take  in  Mrs.  Cameron. ' '  Ida  was  smiling  again ;  she  had 
dismissed  anger  and  annoyance;  nothing  was  to  dim  the 
radiance  of  her  spirits  tonight.  She  and  Ora  would  be  at 
opposite  ends  of  the  table,  and  she  could  keep  the  length 
of  the  drawing-room  between  them  when  they  returned. 

Gregory's  face  never  betrayed  him,  particularly  when 
he  kept  his  eyelids  down,  and,  as  he  shook  hands  with  Ora 
in  the  dining-room  he  told  her  he  was  glad  to  see  her 
again  as  casually  as  if  his  hand  had  not  tingled  to  crush 
hers.  He  talked  with  Mrs.  Cameron,  however,  as  long 
as  possible,  but  when  her  attention  was  claimed  by  the 
man  on  her  right,  he  was  obliged  to  turn  to  Ora.  By  this 
time  his  blood  was  still.  Eating  is  commonplace  work,  and 
talking  the  inevitable  platitudes  of  a  dinner's  earlier 
courses  will  steady  the  most  riotous  pulses. 

Ora  smiled  impersonally ;  her  eyes  might  have  beheld  the 
husband  of  her  friend  for  the  first  time. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  be  able  to  ask  you  something  about 
my  mine, ' '  she  said.  f '  Ida  tells  me  that  you  have  reopened 
it." 

"Yes,  they  are  already  through  the  fault  and  driving 
for  the  vein.  There  happened  to  be  a  good  man  here  look 
ing  for  a  job  when  I  got  Mark's  telegram,  a  young  engineer 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     269 

from  the  East,  named  Eaymond.  The  miners  are  good 
capable  men,  too,  and  as  Osborne  and  Douglas  installed 
a  compressor,  the  work  should  be  pretty  quick.  I  fancy 
you'll  recover  the  vein  in  a  week  or  two." 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall?  Mark  thinks  you  infallible,  but 
it  seems  too  good  to  be  true." 

"The  vein  is  there,  about  a  hundred  feet  down,  but 
how  rich  it  is  I  do  not  venture  to  predict." 

1 '  Well,  never  mind, ' '  Ora  smiled  happily.  ' '  I  shall  have 
the  fun  of  looking  for  it,  and  I  want  to  be  with  the  men 
when  they  find  it." 

"Oh— Ah— It  really  would  be  better  for  you  to  give 
up  that  idea  of  going  out  there  to  stay— 

"I  thought  I  would  give  to  you  the  opportunity  to  say 
that  at  once!  Do  go  on  and  relieve  your  mind." 

"It  is  neither  safe  nor  desirable,"  he  said  sulkily, 
may  have  a  row  on  my  hands  any  minute.  Your  men  and 
my  men  are  a  decent  lot,  but  the  Apex  have  employed  a 
lot  of  scum  so  ignorant  that  there  is  no  knowing  what  they 
may  do  in  a  crisis — in  the  hope  of  currying  favour  with 
their  superiors.  They  would  merely  be  made  scapegoats  or 
—canned — I  beg  pardon,  fired — but  they  don't  know  that, 
and  they're  as  hard  a  lot  as  Europe  ever  kicked  on  to  our 
dump  heap.  Better  stay  here  for  the  present." 

"I've  sent  out  all  the  furniture  for  the  bungalow,  and 
Ouster  and  a  Chinaman  to  put  it  in  order.  I  suppose  my 
engineer  can  camp  in  the  other  cottage  until  it  is  finished. 
That  is  quite  close  to  mine,  I  understand." 

"Oh,  of  course — but  why  not  stay  at  my  ranch 
house— 

"That  is  too  far  from  the  scene  of  operations.  Please 
don't  bother  about  me.  I  should  hate  to  think  I  was  on 
your  mind — you  have  enough!  I  shall  be  well  protected, 
and  I've  even  bought  an  automatic.  I  suppose  being  a 
born  Westerner  I  should  call  it  a  gun.  But  it's  such  a 
little  one.  I  shall  carry  it  always " 

"Yes,  promise  that." 

"I've  even  had  a  little  bag  made,  like  those  they  wore 
years  ago,  to  fasten  to  my  belt,  and  I  shall  keep  it  in 
that." 

"Very  well."  He  dismissed  the  subject.  "I— ah— 
there's  something  I  heard  today,  but  perhaps  I  should  not 
speak  of  it.  Only  Mark  is  such  an  old  friend  of  mine " 


270     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"I  suppose  you  saw  Mr.  Liming  and  he  told  you  that 
we  are  to  separate." 

"Yes,  that  is  it." 

"I  intend  to  live  in  Europe:  I  suppose  you  think  that 
a  callous  reason." 

"It's  as  good  as  most  reasons  for  divorce  in  this  coun 
try.  When  is  Mark  coming  back?" 

"Not  for  two  months.  Nothing  will  be  done  until  then. 
I  want  to  have  my  mining  experience  first  and  I  shall 
leave  Montana  as  soon  as  the  papers  are  served." 

"Ah!" 

Her  partner  claimed  her  at  the  moment  and,  his  own 
still  being  occupied,  he  observed  her  furtively.  He  thought 
that  she  too  looked  older,  but  not  because  advantages  had 
improved  her ;  rather — he  groped  for  the  words  that  would 
give  definiteness  to  his  impression — as  if  some  experience 
had  saddened  her.  She  had  a  softer  expression.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  head  and  he  almost  choked  with  jealousy,  his 
intuitions  carrying  him  straight  to  the  truth.  "By  God! 
She  has  loved  some  man,"  he  thought.  Then  he  set  his 
teeth.  So  much  the  better. 

But  when  she  turned  to  him  again,  he  said  impulsively, 
although  his  tones  were  light : 

"You  never  did  fit  this  Western  life  of  ours.  Of  course 
you  have  found  a  more  civilised  mate  in  Europe?" 

"You  are  all  wrong,"  she  said  gaily.  "My  only  love 
at  present  is  my  mine.  My  mine!  You  should  under 
stand  if  anybody  can." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand  that  magnet.  But  I  naturally 
thought " 

"What  everybody  else  will  think  when  the  news  is  out. 
But  I  am  astonished  that  you  should  jump  at  anything  so 
commonplace. ' '  Her  heart  was  hammering  under  the  con 
centrated  intensity  of  his  gaze ;  and  as  if  he  realised  sud 
denly  that  he  might  be  betraying  himself  he  said  sarcas 
tically  : 

"As  there  are — I  was  told  today — no  less  than  six  di 
vorces  pending  in  this  set  which  my  wife  has  the  honour 
to  entertain  tonight,  and  as  all  are  to  intermarry,  so  to 
speak,  when  liberated,  my  conclusion  in  your  case  was 
probably  due  to  the  force  of  suggestion." 

"Well,  I  forgive  you  if  you  promise  to  believe  none  of 
the  absurd  stories  you  are  sure  to  hear.  I  am  in  love 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     271 

with  freedom.    Now  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Ida?    Isn't 
she  wonderful?" 

Gregory  looked  down  the  table  at  his  wife  sitting  be 
tween  the  two  most  important  men  in  Butte  and  entertain 
ing  both  with  animated  dignity.  She  met  his  eyes  and 
smiled  brilliantly.  She  knew  that  he  was  proud  of  her; 
she  had  accomplished  the  second  manoeuvre  in  her  flank 
attack ;  her  first  had  been  to  put  him  at  his  ease. 

"Yes,"  he  said  to  Ora.  "She  is.  It  is  almost  beyond 
belief.  And  she  is  your  handiwork ! ' '  The  two  might  have 
been  life-long  intimates,  and  Ida  a  mere  kinswoman  of 
both,  so  little  did  the  oddity  of  this  discussion  occur  to 
Gregory  at  least. 

"And  in  a  way  my  present  to  you."  Ora  spoke  with  a 
charming  graciousness.  "Mark  had  given  me  a  tremen 
dous  idea  of  your  abilities.  The  day  I  met  Ida  I  saw  her 
possibilities,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  then  and  there  that 
when  the  world  claimed  you  your  wife  should  be  not  only 
an  inspiration  but  equipped  to  render  you  the  practical  and 
social  help  that  every  rising  man  needs.  Isn't  it  splendid  to 
think  that  she  will  always  sit  at  the  head  of  your  table  ? ' ' 

Gregory  was  staring  hard  at  her  again.  "You  did  that 
deliberately?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  Deliberately.  Ida  is  so  clever  that  she  was 
bound  to  develop  with  your  rising  fortunes,  particularly  if 
you  sent  her  to  Europe.  But  it  would  have  taken  longer. 
I  couldn't  wait.  My  father  inspired  me  with  the  deepest 
admiration  and  respect  for  our  Western  men.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  that  you  were  born  into  the  front  rank,  and 
I  wanted,  as  a  Western  woman,  and  my  father's  daughter, 
to  do  something  to  help  you.  Tell  me  that  you  are  satis 
fied  and  that  you  are  as  proud  of  Ida  as  she  is  of  you— 
that — that — you  simply  adore  her."  She  did  not  flinch, 
and  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  her  own  full  of  young, 
almost  gushing,  enthusiasm.  Her  heart  had  almost  stopped 
beating. 

"I  certainly  am  proud  of  her,  and  grateful  to  you.  No 
doubt  she  will  be  very  helpful  if  I  am  forced  into  politics 
to  conserve  my  interests."  His  tones  were  flat.  He  had 
come  to  his  senses,  and  he  was  too  loyal  to  hint  that  he  no 
longer  loved  his  wife ;  but  Ora 's  face  was  suddenly  flooded 
with  a  lovely  colour,  and  her  eyes  looked  like  grey  mist 
through  which  the  sun  was  bursting.  She  asked  him, 


272     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Aren't  you  going  to  stay  with  us  for  a  few  days! 
We'd  love  to  have  you?" 

"I  take  the  6.10  for  Pony  in  the  morning.  If  I  disap 
pear  before  the  others  it  will  be  to  snatch  a  few  hours' 
sleep  in  that  gorgeous  four-poster  in  my  room.  After  liv 
ing  in  two  rooms  for  so  long  I  am  oppressed  with  all  this 
magnificence ' ' 

"Two  rooms!"  Ora's  voice  rang  out  like  an  excited 
child's.  Gregory,  marvelling  at  the  quick  transitions  of 
her  sex,  thought  he  had  never  seen  anyone  look  so  happy. 
The  gentle  melancholy  that  had  roused  his  jealousy  was 
obliterated.  "Two  rooms!" 

"There  is  another  shack  just  beyond  where  my  China 
man  cooks  for  me,  and  bunks,  but  I  have  only  a  bedroom 
and  office — and  a  bathroom  of  sorts.  Even  my  secretary 
sleeps  at  the  ranch  house. ' ' 

"You  dear  innocent  millionaire.  No  doubt  the  pro 
letariat,  reading  of  your  sudden  wealth,  and  cursing  you, 
pictures  you  wallowing  in  luxury.  Well,  you  shall  come 
and  sit  sometimes  in  my  comfortable  living-room.  It  is 
time  you  relearned  the  a,  b,  c,  of  comfort — before  you 
relapse  into  the  pioneer. ' ' 

"Your  bungalow  looks  as  if  it  could  be  made  very  home 
like."  He  spoke  with  unconscious  wistfulness,  and  she 
raised  friendly  and  impersonal  eyes  to  his. 

"You  shall  see.  I  have  what  the  French  call  the  gift 
of  installation,  and  I  have  sent  out  nice  things.  I  shall 
make  tea  for  you  when  you  come  to  the  surface  at  the 
end  of  the  afternoon  shift,  and  you  shall  sit  in  the  deepest 
of  my  chairs." 

"It  sounds  like  heaven,"  said  Gregory,  who  despised 
tea. 

Professor  Becke,  who  had  taken  her  in,  and  Mrs.  Cam 
eron  simultaneously  addressed  their  temporary  partners, 
and  Gregory  was  now  to  listen  to  an  account,  both  spirited 
and  kindly,  of  the  admiration  his  wife  had  excited  in  her 
native  town.  Mrs.  Cameron  suspected  the  breach,  in  spite 
of  the  clever  acting  of  both,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  do 
what  she  could  to  bridge  it.  She  had  not  an  inkling  of 
the  cause,  for,  like  Ida,  she  knew  nothing  of  that  fateful 
hour  on  the  steps  of  the  School  of  Mines ;  but  as  there  was 
no  gossip  abroad  about  either  Gregory  or  his  wife,  she  in 
ferred  that  it  was  one  of  those  misunderstandings  that  so 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     273 

often  separate  young  couples,  always  prone  to  take  them 
selves  too  seriously.  She  knew  that  Gregory  would  value 
her  praise;  he  not  only  had  been  fond  of  her  as  a  school 
boy,  when  he  spent  an  occasional  Saturday  with  her  son, 
but  he  knew  that  her  experience  of  the  world  was  very 
wide.  She  was  a  woman  whom  long  years  of  wealth  had 
enabled  to  travel  extensively,  she  visited  intimately  at 
some  of  the  greatest  country  homes  in  Europe,  and  she 
had  her  own  position  in  New  York.  She  subtly  made 
Gregory  feel  prouder  still  of  Ida,  and  then  said  teasingly: 
"It  is  well  that  you  have  her  devotion.  I  know  of  three 
men  that  are  quite  off  their  heads  about  her 


Who  are  they?"  A  sultan  may  weary  of  his 
sultana,  but  his  sultana  she  is  all  the  same. 

"That  I'll  not  tell  you.  Even  your  wife  could  not,  I 
fancy.  I've  never  seen  a  woman  treat  men  with  a  more 
careless  impartiality.  What  a  relief  —  with  all  these  di 
vorces  pending.  Merely  a  shuffling  of  cards,  too,  I  under 
stand.  It  is  disgusting.  I  asked  your  wife  as  a  personal 
favour  to  me  to  invite  none  of  them  tonight.  Butte  either 
has  long  orgies  of  respectability  or  goes  quite  off  her 
head." 

'  '  My  wife  is  singularly  indifferent  to  men  for  a  beautiful 
woman,"  replied  Gregory,  comfortably  ignorant  of  his 
beautiful  wife's  depredations  abroad.  "Nor  is  she  likely 
to  countenance  divorce.  She  has  a  good  deal  of  her  old 
New  England  mother  in  her."  He  had  a  haughty  con 
tempt  for  explanations  as  a  rule,  but  his  quick  instinct  had 
caught  the  significance  of  his  companion's  remarks;  know 
ing  that  Ida  must  wish  to  stand  well  with  this  amiable  but 
rigid  arbiter  of  Butte  's  court  of  last  resort,  he  added  : 

"I  am  sorry  not  to  be  in  Butte  oftener,  and  give  her 
what  little  assistance  a  man  may,  but  it  is  all  I  can  do  to 
leave  the  mine  for  a  few  hours  every  week  or  two." 

"That  is  the  fate  of  too  many  of  our  American  women 
married  to  our  too  busy  American  men.  But  —  well  —  Greg 
ory  —  I  have  married  sons  and  daughters,  and  I  am  an 
old  friend  of  yours.  Young  wives  must  not  be  neglected, 
and  resentment  eats  like  a  cancer  until  women  are  old 
enough  to  be  philosophical.  Just  think  that  over."  And 
before  he  could  answer  Ida  gave  the  signal  and  the  men 
were  left  alone. 


VIII 

AS  the  women  dispersed  about  the  long  drawing-room 
Ora  laid  her  arm  lightly  round  the  waist  of  Ida,  who 
was  standing  for  the  moment  apart. 

"Your  dinner  is  a  tremendous  success,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  ''and  so  are  you.  That  gown!  It  makes  mine  look 
so  crude.  I  wish  I  had  worn  white  as  I  intended  until 
the  last  minute.  How  splendidly  everything  went  off.  Not 
a  detail  to  criticise,  and  every  woman  has  worn  something 
new  from  New  York  or  Paris.  But  you— well,  Ida,  you 
are  always  beautiful,  of  course,  but  tonight  you  are  some 
thing  more  than  lovely." 

Oh,  am  I  ? ' '  Ida  gave  a  little  gasp,  forgetting  her  pass 
ing  astonishment  at  so  much  tribute  from  Ora  at  once. 
"  Well,  I  ought  to  be.  I  never  felt  quite  like  this  in  all  my 
life.  Geewhil — no,  I'm  too  happy  even  for  slang.  I  wish 
I  could  sing." 

Ora  sighed.  "I've  always  known  you  would  get  every 
thing  you  wanted,  and  I  can  guess  just  how  you  feel  to 
night.  You  are  a  complete  success.  How  many  people 
ever  are  able  to  say  that?" 

"Yes,  I  feel  as  if  I  owned  the  earth!"  But  her  brows 
met  in  a  puzzled  frown.  "I  never  felt,  though,  as  if  even 
the  conquest  of  Butte  would  all  but  send  me  off  my  head. 
I  never  feel  very  much  excited  about  any  old  thing;  it's 
not  my  make;  but  I've  got  a  sort  of  shiver  inside  of  me, 
and  a  watery  feeling  in  the  heart  region.  If  that  chef  had 
spoilt  the  dinner  I'd  have  gone  out  and  wrung  his  neck." 
"Well,  nothing  can  go  wrong  now.  The  worst  is  over, 
and  no  dinner  was  ever  more  delicious.  Why  don't  you 
let  them  dance?  I  know  that  Mrs.  O'Hara  plays." 

"Good  idea!  I'll  ring  this  minute  for  a  few  of  those 
extra  near-waiters  to  take  out  the  rugs  and  move  the  furni 
ture." 

Two  of  the  younger  women,  who  had  returned  not  long 
since  from  San  Francisco,  were  showing  their  scandalised 

274 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     275 

friends  the  turkey-trot  when  the  men  came  down  the  hall 
from  the  dining-room.  Ida  drew  Gregory  aside. 

"Tell  me,'7  she  asked,  with  an  eager  almost  childish 
note  in  her  voice  new  to  him.  "Did  it  go  off  well?  Am 
I  all  I  ought  to  be  after  all  the  money  you  have  spent  on 
me?  Do  I  look  nice  in  my  fine  clothes?" 

Gregory  patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  "I  know  little 
about  such  things,"  he  said  kindly,  "but  it  outclassed  all 
the  banquets  I've  been  obliged  to  attend  in  the  last  six  or 
eight  months.  I  felt  quite  proud  that  it  was  in  my  own 
house — yours,  to  be  literal — and  Mrs.  Blake  assured  me 
that  she  had  never  seen  anything  better  done." 

"Ora  is  an  angel,  and  without  her — but  you  know  all 
that.  Tell  me — well,  Gregory,  I  want  a  good  old-fashioned 
compliment ! ' ' 

His  voice  lost  its  bantering  tone  and  became  formal  with 
gallantry:  "You  are,  as  ever,  the  handsomest  woman  in 
Montana.  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if  those  New  York 
reporters  were  right  and  that  you  are  the  handsomest 
woman  in  America." 

Ida  looked  for  a  long  moment  into  his  eyes.  Again  her 
brows  met  in  a  puzzled  frown,  this  time  because  her  sin 
gular  lightness  of  spirit  had  fled  abruptly.  She  was  too 
proud,  too  far  developed  beyond  the  old  Ida,  to  put  forth 
the  arts  of  the  siren  until  they  were  alone;  but  she  asked 
softly,  and  again  with  that  almost  childish  naivete : 

1 1  Do  you  really  admire  me  ? " 

"You  are  all  right,"  he  said  with  a  heartiness  that 
masked  a  sudden  misgiving.  "I  must  come  in  and  take 
you  to  the  theatre  the  next  time  a  good  show  comes  to 
town.  Let  me  know.  I'll  gratify  my  vanity  by  sitting 
beside  you  in  a  box " 

"There's  a  play  tomorrow  night.     Stay  over!" 

"I'm  sorry.  I  don't  dare.  Apex  is  sinking  for  all  she's 
worth.  We  may  have  a  set-to  any  minute.  It  was  a  risk 
even  to  come  away  for  a  night." 

"Oh,  do  let  me  go  out,  and  down  into  the  mine " 

"I  should  think  not.  And  do  your  best  to  keep  Mrs. 
Blake  in  Butte  for  at  least  a  week." 

' '  Well,  let  me  go  out  when  the  danger  is  over.  I  long  to 
see  chalcopyrite  in  the  vein.  I  saw  some  beautiful  speci 
mens  at  the  School  of  Mines  the  other  day.  It  looks  like 
pure  gold." 


276     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "What  on  earth  do 
you  know  about  ores?  Did  you  include  Freiberg  in  your 
itinerary?" 

"This  is  Butte,  remember.  I  no  sooner  returned  than 
I  realised  how  interesting  she  was." 

"Ah,  well,  when  this  affair  is  settled,  come  out  and  stay 
with  Mrs.  Blake  and  I'll  take  you  down.  I've  no  place  to 
put  you  up.  Even  the  ranch  house  is  full.  Mrs.  Blake's 
manager  and  foreman  are  boarding  there  at  present,  and 
Oakley  also  puts  up  my  secretary— 

"And  those  crop--  Oakley  put  in  with  such  enthusiasm?" 
cried  Ida  with  a  sudden  inspiration,  and  racking  her  mem 
ory.  "Did  they  turn  out  as  he  expected?  Was  there  a 
drought — in — in — those  states  ? ' ' 

"What  a  memory  you  have!  Yes,  Oakley  is  doing  won 
ders,  and  the  drought  arrived  as  per  schedule.  He  would 
scorn  to  put  the  ranch  under  the  ditch,  although  that  is 
my  long  suit  at  present." 

"I  suppose  Circle  G  Ranch  looks  like  Holland  by  this 
time." 

"Not  quite  yet !  But  the  work  is  progressing  splendidly, 
all  except—  He  paused.  It  had  never  been  his  habit 
to  talk  to  her,  and  the  complicated  details  of  business  he 
regarded  as  beyond  the  intelligent  apprehension  of  any 
woman.  But  as  Ida  moved  closer  to  him  with  wide-open 
eyes  she  looked  intelligent  enough  to  understand  anything, 
and  a  letter  received  that  morning  had  been  on  his  mind 
ever  since.  "There  is  some  trouble  about  the  railroad," 
he  said.  "The  Land  Company  was  to  build  it,  but  either 
doesn't  want  the  bother  or  really  has  lost  a  lot  of  money,  as 
it  claims.  I  placed  a  deed  in  escrow  which  pledges  me  to 
build  it  if  the  Land  Company  failed  to  keep  its  agreement ; 
and  the  seed  houses,  which  bought  several  large  blocks  of 
land,  and  a  number  of  private  settlers  are  demanding 
that  the  railroad  be  begun— it  was  to  be  finished  at  the 
end  of  a  year " 

Ida  saw  her  opportunity  and  grasped  it.  "We  both 
must  do  our  duty,  and  not  monopolise  each  other,"  she 
said  hurriedly.  "But  tell  me  all  about  it  after  they  have 
gone.  Now,  go  and  dance  with  Kitty  Collier.  She's  the 
best-looking  woman  in  Butte.  I  can't  dance  in  this  har 
ness,  but  I'll  talk  English  politics  with  my  portlier  guests." 
As  he  smiled  and  moved  toward  the  music,  she  laid  her 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     277 

hand  lightly  on  his  arm.  ' '  I  want  to  thank  you  for  coming 
tonight,  Gregory,"  she  said.  "It  means  a  great  deal  to 
me  socially.  Besides,  it  is  good  to  see  you  again."  And 
this  time  she  looked  very  sweet;  but  there  was  a  slight 
aloofness  in  her  manner,  as  if  to  admonish  him  that,  al 
though  he  was  forgiven,  there  was  still  a  breach  which  it 
was  for  him  to  close.  Then  she  added  lightly:  "Well, 
we'll  talk  it  all  over  later.  Go,  now,  and  dance." 

Gregory  stood  by  the  front  door  talking  to  two  of  the 
men,  whose  wives  had  walked  on ;  their  homes  were  but  a 
door  or  two  away.  Ida  ran  up  the  stairs  to  Ora's  room, 
where  they  unhooked  each  other. 

"You  look  tired,"  said  Ida,  sympathetically. 

"Oh,  I  am  tired,"  replied  Ora,  her  arms  hanging. 
"Tired.  Tired." 

"It's  a  long  while  since  you  danced  like  that.  Just 
drop  into  bed.  Lend  me  a  scarf,  will  you?" 

She  covered  her  opened  gown  with  the  lace  and  walked 
slowly  over  to  her  room.  Then  she  suddenly  turned  back 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The  three  men  were  still  talking 
below. 

'  *  Gregory, ' '  she  called,  and  her  voice  was  very  sweet. 

"Yes?" 

"Lock  up,  will  you?    The  servants  have  gone  to  bed." 

"I  will." 

"Don't  forget,"  and  omitting  to  add  a  good-night,  she 
went  swiftly  to  her  room,  changed  her  formal  evening 
gown  for  a  soft  combination  of  yellow  silk  and  lace  that 
made  her  look  like  a  tulip  in  a  primrose  bed,  let  down  the 
black  masses  of  her  hair,  and  threw  herself  into  a  deep 
chair.  But  there  was  no  repose  in  her  attitude.  More 
than  once  her  body  stiffened  and  she  raised  her  head. 
Pride  and  shrewdness  forbade  her  to  leave  her  door  open, 
and  it  would  be  impossible  to  hear  that  light  panther-like 
tread  on  the  heavy  carpet  of  the  stair.  The  front  door 
might  have  closed  while  she  was  changing  in  the  dressing- 
room. 

Suddenly  she  heard  it  slam.  Nervous  as  she  was  she 
smiled  reminiscently.  Gregory  might  be  soft  of  foot,  but 
otherwise  he  was  as  noisy  as  most  men.  Then  the  smile 
froze  until  her  lips  were  distended  in  a  grin.  Another 
door  had  slammed.  Gregory  was  in  his  own  room. 


278     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

After  a  few  moments  she  became  aware  that  her  body 
was  rigid  and  that  she  was  grasping  the  arms  of  her  chair. 
She  rose  with  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  but  stood 
with  her  head  bent,  listening  intently.  Suddenly  she 
swayed  a  little,  once  more  flooded  with  that  sense  of  ex 
cited  gladness  with  which  guests  and  chefs  had  had  naught 
to  do:  she  thought  she  heard  a  door  open  softly,  a  light 
footfall.  But  her  straining  ear-drums  had  deceived  her. 
The  house  was  as  still  as  a  mausoleum.  She  pressed  her 
hands  against  her  breast  in  the  gesture  the  stage  has  bor 
rowed  from  life ;  her  heart  felt  as  if  swimming  against  an 
undertow. 

Then  she  began  pacing  up  and  down.  After  her  habit 
she  tried  to  arrange  her  thoughts  by  putting  them  into 
words,  and,  as  people  still  do  off  the  stage,  muttered  them 
aloud. 

"My  God!  Do  I  care  as  much  as  that?  Do  I  really 
care?  No!  No!  No!  Any  woman  of  pride,  let  alone 
vanity,  would  make  up  her  mind  to  bring  her  husband 
back — especially  if  she  could  make  him  as  proud  of  her 
as  I  made  him  of  me  tonight.  And  when  he  still  thinks 
me  beautiful.  What  woman  wouldn't?  Even  if  she  didn't 
have  an  ounce  of  any  kind  of  feeling  for  him?  Men  are 
only  interesting  when  they  forget  about  us  in  that  purely 
masculine  world  where  women  are  warned  off  the  grass. 
To  lure  them  back — that  is  the  spice  of  life  in  this  country. 
And  if  one  doesn't  succeed  the  first  time — he  may  be  so 
tired  and  sleepy  that  he's  forgotten  about  me — or  shy, 
afraid  I'd  laugh  at  him — the  world  does  not  come  to  an 
end  tonight— What  an  idiot  I  am !  I  made  him  admire  me 
more  than  ever,  astonished  him — why  am  I  not  satisfied 
for  the  present?— It  can't  be  that  I  care — that  I  long  for 
him  to  come— Good  God!  I'd  rather  be  dead  than  that!" 
^  But  she  went  to  the  door  and,  laying  her  ear  against  it, 
listened  until  she  became  aware  that  her  lungs  were  burst 
ing  with  imprisoned  breath.  Then  she  sank  into  a  chair 
trembling,  her  eyes  filled  with  fear.  A  moment  more  and 
she  flung  her  arms  over  the  table  and  dropped  her  face 
upon  them  and  broke  into  heavy  weeping. 


IX 

looked  round  the  large  living-room  of  her  bunga- 
low  with  a  deep  sense  of  content.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  a  material  coarse  in  weave  and  of  a  red  warm 
but  not  too  bright.  The  colour  was  repeated  in  the  divan 
and  chairs,  melting  softly  into  browns  that  harmonised 
with  the  heavy  beams  of  the  ceiling.  A  few  Navajo  rugs 
covered  the  floor.  Above  the  divan  of  many  cushions  was 
a  bookshelf  crowded  with  the  new  fiction  of  two  continents. 
Several  shelves,  built  like  a  bookcase,  occupied  a  corner 
and  were  furnished  more  ponderously.  In  the  middle  of 
the  room  a  large  table  was  half  covered  with  the  best 
periodicals  of  the  day,  although  there  was  room  for  a 
large  lamp  with  a  red  shade  and  a  vase  filled  with  wild 
flowers.  Down  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  which  was 
about  thirty  feet  long,  and  opposite  the  kitchen,  were  the 
dining-table  and  a  small  sideboard.  The  main  door 
opened  upon  a  verandah,  and  one  beside  the  fireplace  into 
a  narrow  hall,  giving  privacy  to  the  bedrooms.  Ora  had 
no  atavistic  yearnings  for  the  life  of  the  pioneer ;  she  might 
feel  as  much  at  home  in  a  bungalow  as  in  a  palace,  but 
elementals,  save  when  pictorially  valuable,  like  overhead 
beams,  were  rigidly  excluded. 

Her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  she  drifted  up  and  down 
the  long  room,  her  mode  of  ambulation  expressing  the  state 
of  her  mind.  Quick  and  final  as  she  could  be  in  decision, 
if  necessity  spurred,  the  deeper  sensuousness  in  her  nature 
impelled  her  to  drift  whenever  circumstances  would  per 
mit.  For  two  months  she  intended  to  drift — or  gamble! 
She  had  not  come  out  here  further  to  alienate  the  affections 
of  her  friend's  husband,  and  those  old  tumultuous  dreams 
were  still  crowded  in  some  remote  brain  cell  with  seals 
on  the  door.  She  had  even  told  herself  in  so  many  words 
that  she  had  no  desire  for  anything  so  terrific  as  their 
complete  materialisation.  She  had  plumbed  the  depth  and 
intensity  of  life  in  her  imagination.  Let  that  suffice.  And 

279 


280     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

reality  was  not  so  much  to  be  feared  because  of  the  wreck 
it  might  make  of  her  life  as  because  it  was  reasonably 
sure  to  leave  a  corpse  in  her  memory,  instead  of  that  ever 
burning  soul  of  past  delights. 

But  she  had  come  out  to  her  mine  to  enjoy  the  constant 
companionship  of  Gregory  Compton  before  she  left  her 
country  for  ever  and  married  a  European.  That  much  she 
owed  to  the  extraordinary  imaginative  experience  in  which 
they  had  been  one.  If  she  could  spend  long  hours  with 
him,  make  him  as  eager  for  her  companionship  as  she  was 
for  his,  forget  his  mine  now  and  then,  feel  that  mysterious 
and  satisfying  bond  of  the  spirit,  she  would  ask  no  more, 
not  even  an  admission  of  love  when  they  parted. 

When  a  woman  goes  on  a  still  hunt  for  a  man's  soul  she 
is  far  more  dangerous  than  the  obvious  siren,  for  her  self- 
delusion  is  complete,  her  guards  are  down,  her  wiles  dis 
arming.  Ora  had  had  too  little  practical  experience  of  men 
to  be  prepared  to  admit,  in  spite  of  her  abstract  knowledge 
of  life,  that  there  has  been  but  one  foundation  of  love  since 
the  world  began,  and  never  will  be  another  till  life  on  this 
planet  ends,  whatever  may  be  the  starry  mysteries  of  the 
spheres.  But  while  she  was  (spasmodically)  too  honest  to 
deny  even  her  own  sex  encumbrance,  she  believed,  like 
many  other,  particularly  American  women  of  narrow  ex 
perience,  that  it  had  been  politely  emasculated  by  the 
higher  civilisation,  was  merely  synonymous  with  poetry, 
romance,  and  sentiment.  This  convention  was  imported 
to  the  New  World  by  England's  middle-class  and  became 
a  convenient  national  superstition.  It  is  on  the  wane. 

That  Gregory,  granted  she  were  successful  in  capturing 
his  soul,  might  desire  to  contribute  the  rest  of  himself  to 
the  spoils,  now  that  she  no  longer  was  the  wife  of  his 
friend,  let  loose  those  subversive  passions  she  had  divined 
the  night  of  their  meeting  and  dared  to  recognise  in  the 
realm  of  imagination,  she  would  have  refused  to  admit  had 
the  possibility  occurred  to  her.  She  was  out  for  the  ideal, 
and  not  yet  had  she  learned  to  take  her  imagination  in 
hand  like  a  refractory  child.  Moreover,  she  had  an  im 
perious  will,  gracefully  as  she  concealed  it.  This  last  year 
of  freedom  and  wealth  and  feminine  triumphs  had  tem 
pered  that  will  into  a  pliable  and  dangerous  weapon. 
What  she  wanted  she  would  have.  As  she  planned  a  thing 
so  should  it  work  out.  But  the  details — ah,  they  were 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     281 

veiled  in  the  future,  and  from  their  mysteries  came  this 
reflex  vibration,  this  pleasant  sense  of  drifting,  of  wonder 
ing  how  it  would  all  begin  and  what  would  happen  next. 

In  a  sense  it  had  begun.  Gregory  had  called  two  days 
before  to  ask  if  she  were  comfortable.  He  was  in  his  over 
alls  (purposely),  and  had  refused  at  first  to  sit  down,  but 
finally  had  succumbed  to  the  deepest  of  the  chairs  before 
the  log  fire.  He  had  finished  by  remaining  for  supper, 
and  again  had  occupied  the  chair  until  eleven  o'clock. 
Neither  had  suspected  the  other's  secret  passion,  for  love 
before  union,  being  nine  parts  imagination,  needs  solitude 
for  indulgence,  and  is  capable,  moreover,  of  long  and 
satisfying  quietudes  if  fed  with  externals.  There  was 
sheer  delight  in  sitting  together  by  that  warm  intimate 
fire,  at  the  dining-table  at  the  end  of  the  long  shadowy 
room,  in  feeling  cut  off  from  the  world  on  the  edge  of 
that  rough  mountain  camp,  in  listening  to  the  soughing 
of  the  pines  during  the  silences.  That  both  were  on  their 
guard  lest  the  other  take  fright  and  the  experience  be 
impossible  of  repetition  but  exaggerated  the  atmosphere 
of  friendliness,  of  almost  sexless  comradeship.  Gregory 
betrayed  one  only  of  his  reflections :  he  admitted  to  himself 
what  Ora  subtly  compelled  him  to  admit,  and  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  divining,  that  the  companionship  of  woman  was  a 
blessed  thing,  and  that  he  had  been  the  loneliest  of  men. 

Their  talk  was  mainly  of  ores!  She  was  permitted  to 
learn  how  little  else  interested  him  in  comparison  with  the 
enthralling  inside  of  Montana.  But  he  told  her  also  the 
legends  of  the  great  copper  mines  on  Lake  Superior,  so 
old  that  copper  was  found  pure,  looking  much  like  the 
smelted  product  from  the  copper  ores  of  the  later  geologi 
cal  formations  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  These  vast  mines, 
particularly  that  on  Isle  Royal,  bore  unmistakable  signs 
of  having  been  worked  systematically  by  a  prehistoric 
people  experienced  in  mining;  presumably  by  the  At- 
lantans,  who,  after  their  own  mines  were  worked  out  and 
they  still  demanded  "orichalcum"  for  their  monuments 
and  bronze  for  th^ir  implements,  went  annually  in  ships  for 
the  metal.  That  there  had  been  a  self-supporting  mining 
colony  on  Isle  Royal  was  indicated  by  certain  agricultural 
remains. 

Gregory  and  Ora  had  amused  themselves  reconstructing 
that  old  time  when  the  metal  island  was  as  lively  as  today, 


282     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

and  considerably  more  picturesque — owing  to  the  alter 
native  of  skins  for  muck-spattered  overalls;  an  under 
ground  chapter  of  the  Niebelungenlied,  its  gnomes  toiling 
down  in  those  two  miles  of  workings,  stoping  out  less  in 
a  hundred  years  than  the  methods  of  today  force  a  mine 
to  yield  in  one.  How  they  must  have  swarmed  to  the  sur 
face,  regardless  of  discipline,  at  the  first  signal  of  the 
approaching  ships,  their  one  link  with  a  world  that  was 
not  all  water  and  forest  and  underground  cavern.  By 
what  tortuous  way  did  those  archaic  ships  travel  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  northwest  corner  of  that  vast  inland  sheet ; 
unless,  indeed,  which  is  likely,  subsequent  upheavals  have 
destroyed  a  waterway  which  may  have  connected  sea  and 
lake  prior  to  10000  B.  C.*  How  many  of  those  old  ships 
lie  in  the  bed  of  Lake  Superior,  laden  with  rude  nuggets 
of  copper,  pounded  from  the  gangue,  or,  who  knows? 
smelted  by  a  lost  art  into  sheets  and  blocks?  Archaic 
ships  rode  high,  and  no  doubt  those  from  Atlantis  were 
overladen;  for  what  has  kept  Atlantis  in  the  realm  of 
myth  so  long  save  the  unscientific  legend  that  she  perished 
of  greed  and  its  vicious  offspring  ?  What  archaic  mysteries 
may  not  the  terrible  storms  of  that  great  north  lake  yet 
uncover?  What  strange  variety  of  copper,  washed  and 
bitten  by  the  waters  of  twelve  thousand  years,  for  which 
the  enraptured  geologist  must  find  a  new  name?  Who 
knows?— the  bed  of  Lake  Superior  may  be  one  unbroken 
floor  of  malachite;  and  the  North  American  Indian  of 
that  region  the  descendant  of  those  ancient  miners,  aban 
doned  and  forgotten  when  Atlantis  plunged  to  the  bottom 
of  the  sea. 

It  was  Ora  who  advanced  these  last  frivolous  theories, 
and — the  clock  striking  eleven — Gregory  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Likely  as  any,"  he  said.  "All  theories  change  about 
as  often  as  it  is  time  to  get  out  a  new  edition  of  an  encyclo- 

*  Plato  dates  the  submergence  of  the  last  of  Atlantis  (the  island 
of  Poseidonis)  about  9,000  years  before  the  priests  of  Sais  told  its 
story  to  Solon,  who  lived  600  B.C.  The  Troano  MSS.  in  the  British 
Museum,  written  by  the  Mayas  of  Yucatan  about  3500  B.C.,  assert 
that  it  took  place  11560  B.C.  The  archaic  records  of  India  give  the 
date  of  the  fourth  and  final  catastrophe  that  overwhelmed  the  rem 
nant  of  the  once  vast  continent  (which  Darwin  and  other  naturalists 
claim  must  have  extended  from  the  American  to  the  European  conti 
nent  to  account  for  the  migration  of  plants  found  in  Miocene  strata) 
as  9564  B.C. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     283 

paedia,  or  develop  a  'new  school'  which  makes  its  reputa 
tion  by  the  short  cut  of  upsetting  the  solemn  conclusions 
of  its  predecessors.  I'm  going  down  into  the  mine."  He 
bolted  out  with  no  further  ceremony,  but  Ora  was  long 
since  accustomed  to  the  manners  of  Western  men.  She 
went  to  bed  feeling  that  sadness  had  gone  out  of  the  world. 
She  had  not  seen  him  since.  Nor  had  anything  new  and 
interesting  happened.  Her  manager,  Raymond,  refused  to 
take  her  down  in  the  mine,  alleging  that  when  Apex  broke 
into  the  workings  of  Perch  of  the  Devil,  there  was  sure 
to  be  a  fight,  and  the  bohunks  would  retreat,  not  up  their 
own  shaft  but  through  the  tunnels  of  the  Primo  mine. 
The  young  man  was  manifestly  distressed  to  refuse  any 
boon  to  so  charming  a  woman,  and  he  and  his  foreman 
had  moved  at  once  into  the  half-finished  cottage,  but  he 
heartily  wished  her  back  in  Butte,  nevertheless.  The  best 
of  miners  love  a  fight,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  protect 
her  from  flying  bullets  if  the  row  was  continued  above 
ground.  Ora  merely  had  laughed  when  he  begged  her  to 
return  or  to  remain  within  doors,  but  had  promised  to  be 
prudent  and  flourished  her  automatic  .25. 


CHE  glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was  half  past  three.  She 
knew  that  Gregory  frequently  went  below  in  the 
morning,  and  had  half  expected  that  he  would  cross  over 
to  her  hill  for  a  moment  when  he  came  up  at  three  o  'clock. 
The  drifting  mood  vanished.  She  decided  that  two  days 
were  enough  for  feminine  passivity  and  went  to  her  bed 
room  and  changed  her  pretty  house  frock  for  a  stout  out- 
of-doors '  costume  of  forest  green  tweed:  as  she  had  no 
mind  to  look  either  the  outworn  Western  heroine  of  ro 
mance,  or  a  fright,  she  had  omitted  khaki  from  her  moun 
tain  wardrobe.  She  tied  a  light  green  veil  round  her 
head,  put  on  a  pair  of  loose  chamois  gloves,  selected  a 
green  parasol  lined  with  pink,  and  went  out  to  give  the 
fates  a  gentle  shove. 

Hitherto  she  had  so  far  yielded  to  the  solicitude  of  her 
manager  as  to  take  her  walks  through  the  pine  woods 
above  her  bungalow,  but  today  she  marched  deliberately 
through  her  grove  and  stood  for  several  moments  on  the 
edge  of  the  little  bluff  above  the  tableland  on  which  her 
claim  was  located.  It  was  her  first  prolonged  look  at  the 
three  mining  camps,  for  she  had  arrived  at  night.  She 
had  driven  out  occasionally  to  mining  camps  with  her 
father,  once  or  twice  with  Mark;  the  scene  was  both  typi 
cal  and  picturesquely  ugly.  In  or  near  the  centre  of  each 
claim  was  the  shaft  house ;  fifty  feet  beyond — the  distance 
prescribed  by  law  to  prevent  overhead  fires  from  communi 
cating  with  underground  timbers — were  the  buildings  con 
taining  the  hoisting  machinery  and  the  compressed  air 
plant.  Scattered  about  were  the  shacks  of  the  miners, 
the  long  bunk-  and  mess-houses,  blacksmith  and  carpenter 
shops.  Just  below  the  Apex  claim,  and  on  Government 
land,  an  enterprising  publican  had  established  himself. 
On  all  sides  were  other  claims  of  recent  location,  for  there 
had  been  the  inevitable  rush. 

The  rude  buildings  were  grey  and  weather  beaten,  and 
all  traces  of  the  gentle  spring  verdure  had  disappeared. 

284 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     285 

About  the  collar  of  each  shaft  was  an  immense  dump  heap, 
waste  rock  brought  up  from  the  depths,  and  the  highest 
of  these  was  on  Perch  of  the  Devil.  Near  each  were  the 
ore  bins,  but  these  for  the  most  part  were  empty,  and, 
save  on  the  De  Smet  hill,  there  was  a  notable  absence  of 
"double-sixes."  The  Primo  vein  had  not  been  recovered, 
Apex  had  not  yet  touched  bottom;  Gregory  Compton,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  had  changed  his  original 
plan  and  was  merely  uncovering  his  new  vein,  taking  out 
as  little  of  its  ore  as  possible.  His  bins  were  furnished 
with  ore  from  the  second  level  of  his  mine,  where  work 
had  proceeded  steadily  on  the  original  vein. 

The  men  off  shift  were  standing  about  in  groups  as 
they  did  in  Butte,  or  passing  in  and  out  of  the  saloon. 
And  the  racket  was  deafening:  the  roar  of  the  machinery 
in  the  hoisting  and  compressor  houses,  the  crash  of  rock 
dumped  from  the  buckets  or  skips,  the  ringing  of  hammer 
on  anvil.  The  scene  was  not  beautiful  but  it  was  alive! 
One  could  fancy  the  thrill  of  the  hidden  metals,  knowing 
that  their  hour,  after  vast  geological  ages  of  waiting,  was 
come ;  that,  like  mortals,  they  were  to  agonise  in  the  cruci 
ble  of  life  and  achieve  their  ultimate  destiny. 

Ora  walked  through  the  grove  until  she  was  beyond  the 
long  mess-house  at  the  back  of  her  claim,  climbed  over  the 
abrupt  rise  of  Apex — which,  combined  with  the  hardness 
of  the  rock,  had  made  its  task  so  long — and,  ascertaining 
that  the  larger  buildings  hid  her,  crawled  under  the  De 
Smet  fence,  and  drew  a  long  breath  as  she  set  her  feet 
squarely  on  the  famous  Perch  of  the  Devil.  Here  the 
buildings,  large  and  small,  were  scattered  up  to  the  brow 
of  the  hill  and  over  on  the  other  side.  It  had,  in  fact, 
something  of  the  appearance  of  a  growing  village  with 
irregular  streets ;  and  before  several  of  the  cabins  children 
were  playing,  or  women  took  their  Monday  washing  from 
the  line.  The  fronts  of  some  of  these  cottages  were  painted 
white,  and  here  and  there  flowers  grew  in  boxes.  There 
were  even  a  reading-room  and  a  large  "general  store. "  Al 
together  Perch  of  the  Devil  looked  as  if  it  might  grow 
larger,  and  more  solid  and  permanent  of  aspect,  with  the 
years. 

Ora  walked  through  the  crooked  streets  on  the  steep 
hillside  until  she  reached  the  deep  chamber  into  which 
had  leached  the  acids  of  the  centuries  to  enrich  the  ores, 


286     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

and  incidentally  Gregory  Compton.  Thousands  of  tons  of 
dump  made  a  hill  in  itself  and  shut  off  the  view  to  the 
south,  but  below  were  the  acres  of  waving  wheat,  the 
alfalfa  with  its  purple  flower,  the  sprouting  flax,  the 
winding  creek  that  was  often  dry  but  sometimes  wet,  the 
brush  sheds  for  the  cattle,  the  substantial  farm  buildings. 
The  broad  peaceful  expanse  looked  as  if  even  a  winter 
wind  had  never  shaken  it,  so  entirely  did  it  seem  disso 
ciated  from  the  frantic  energies  of  its  northeast  corner. 
And  still  beyond  was  perfect  beauty:  the  massive  pine- 
covered  mountains,  rising  tier  above  tier,  ridges  of  the  great 
Eockies,  far  away  and  up  to  the  sky-cutting  line,  glitter 
ing  with  eternal  snows.  For  a  few  moments  Ora  forgot 
the  raucous  noises  about  her,  Nature  delivering  herself  of 
her  precious  children  with  loud  protesting  pains.  Then 
she  turned  suddenly  and  looked  upward. 

Gregory  had  just  stepped  from  his  cabin.  For  a  moment 
he  did  not  see  her,  but  stood  staring,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  at  the  distant  mountains.  He  wore  his  favourite 
overalls  and  a  battered  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head;  but 
he  looked  so  remote  in  spirit  from  that  materialising  cos 
tume  that  Ora  watched  him  with  a  sensation  of  helpless 
jealousy.  Not  for  a  moment  could  she  delude  herself  that 
he  was  thinking  of  her.  He  looked  like  a  seer. 

' '  Can  you  see  right  into  the  heart  of  those  mountains  ? ' ' 
she  asked  lightly,  as  she  walked  up  the  hill  toward  him. 
"You  looked  as  if  your  imagination  were  'blocking  out' 
thousands  of  tons  of  gold  quartz." 

He  started  and  coloured,  but  smiled  with  a  sudden 
pleasure  at  the  charming  picture  in  the  foreground. 
"Something  like  that.  This  mine  is  all  right,  and  now 
that  I've  got  over  my  disappointment,  I  have  a  feeling 
for  it  that  I  guess  I'll  never  have  for  another  mine — 
something  like  the  affection  for  one's  first  born!  But  all 
the  same  I  intend  to  have  a  gold  mine  one  of  these  days. 
Have  you  been  admiring  my  view  ? ' ' 

He  had  walked  down  and  joined  her. 

"Yes,  but  that  is  not  what  I  came  over  here  for.  Nor 
is  it  what  I  came  out  to  the  mines  for.  I  brought  a  small 
library,  but  I  find  I  am  not  in  the  humour  for  books.  I 
want  to  be  doing  something  myself.  Mr.  Raymond  won't 
take  me  down  into  my  mine.  I  want  to  go  down  into 
yours — now. ' ' 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     287 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "Well — why  not?  Apex  is 
not  working  this  afternoon — something  the  matter  with 
their  compressor.  They  sounded  pretty  close  to  our  work 
ings  this  morning,  but  the  men  quit  about  one  o'clock, 
and  as  they  didn't  blast  it  was  probably  because  the  holes 
weren't  deep  enough.  I've  just  been  told  that  they  can't 
get  to  work  again  before  tomorrow.  But  you  look  much 
too  fine!" 

' '  Everything  cleans ;  and  I  '11  leave  my  veil  and  parasol 
in  the  shaft  house." 

"All  right,"  he  said  abruptly.     "Come  along." 

When  they  were  in  the  shaft  house  he  asked,  "Will  you 
go  down  in  the  skip  or  by  the  ladder?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  possibly  do  anything  so  ignominious  as 
to  go  down  in  a  bucket,  and  I'm  very  agile.  How  far 
is  it?" 

"A  hundred  feet.  I  shall  only  take  you  to  the  first 
level." 

Ora  peered  down  into  the  black  and  slanting  and  ap 
parently  bottomless  well.  A  ladder  was  built  flat  against 
one  side.  A  skip  full  of  ore  was  banging  against  the  sides 
of  the  other  compartment  on  its  way  up.  She  looked 
again  at  the  ladder,  shuddered,  and  set  her  teeth. 

Gregory  put  two  candles  in  his  pocket,  inserted  his  long 
limber  body  into  the  narrow  aperture  and  ran  down  side 
ways. 

"Oh!"  gasped  Ora.  "I  can't  do  that.  Please  wait. 
I — I  think  I'd  better  go  down  backward." 

"By  all  means.  Sit  down  and  turn  round.  I'll  catch 
hold  of  one  of  your  feet  and  put  it  on  a  rung.  The  rest 
will  be  easy." 

Ora  followed  these  instructions  gingerly,  concluding 
that  the  skip  would  have  been  more  dignified.  Then  she 
forgot  dignity  and  only  wondered  if  her  bones  had  gone 
out  of  her :  she  had  rolled  over  on  her  equatorial  zone  and 
was  kicking  helplessly  in  the  void.  But  as  Gregory  caught 
her  feet  and  planted  them  safely  she  set  her  teeth  once 
more  and  summoned  her  pride. 

"Glad  you  have  on  stout  boots,"  he  said,  practically. 
"We've  not  enough  water  in  the  mine  for  pumps,  but  it's 
a  little  damp  underfoot.  Wait  a  minute  while  I  light  a 
candle."  He  struck  a  match  and  performed  this  feat; 
how,  Ora  could  not  even  guess ;  but  she  glanced  down  side- 


288     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

ways  and  saw  that  he  was  holding  the  lighted  candle  up 
at  arm's  length. 

' '  Come  on, ' '  he  said.    ' l  You  mustn  't  be  frightened. ' ' 
"I'm  not  a  bit  frightened,  but  don't  go  too  fast." 
^  Gregory,  who  was  running  down  the  ladder,  moderated 
his  pace,  and  sent  up  an  occasional  word  of  cheer.     Sud 
denly  Ora  heard  a  horrid  noise  below  like  the  crash  and 
roar  of  an  express  train.     "Has  the  mine  fallen  in?"  she 
gasped. 

"Hope  not.  That's  the  tram  with  ore  and  rock  for  the 
skip.  By  and  by  we'll  use  the  waste  rock  to  fill  up  the 
stopes  with,  but  we're  only  blocking  out  at  present." 

"How  frightfully  interesting  mining  is— in  all  its  de 
tails!'      Ora's  hands  were  smarting,  and  every  part  of 
her,  not  excluding  her  imagination,  felt  as  if  on  the  rack 
That  noise  is  over!" 
"^Did  I  hear  you  say  'Thank  heaven'?" 
"Of  course  not.     How  much  farther  is  it?     Haven't 
we  passed  the  first  level?" 

"If  we  had  I  should  be  carrying  you.  Only  about 
twenty  feet  more." 

And  a  few  moments  later,  with  the  deepest  sigh  of 
relief  she  had  ever  drawn,  she  was  standing  in  the  small 
station  beside  the  shaft. 

"It's  hard  work  the  first  time,"  he  said  sympathetically 
But  you'll  soon  get  used  to  it." 
"How  dark  it  is!" 

"I'll  put  in  electricity  when  my  troubles  with  Amalga 
mated  are  over."  He  lit  another  candle  and  handed  it  to 
her.  "Be  careful  of  your  frock." 

The  ore  car  was  rumbling  away  in  the  distance.  Greg 
ory  followed  the  sound  down  the  tunnel  and  Ora  kept 
close  at  his  heels.  "I  suppose  we'll  see  something  after  a 
while?  she  ventured.  "I  can't  see  even  you  now  onlv 
your  candle." 

"We'll  soon  be  out  of  this,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "You 
see,  we've  had  to  walk  under  the  chamber  from  which  I 

took  that  great  deposit  of  carbonates,  and  then  some " 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  not  before  he  had  turned  acutely 
to  the  left.  "This  is  where  I  lost  the  vein.  We  are  in 
the  fault  now.  How  would  you  like  to  be  in  an  earth 
quake  that  broke  a  vein  in  two  and  hurled  one  end " 

His  voice  was  lost  in  the  rattling  roar  of  the  compressed 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL    289 

air  drills,  although  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  until  they 
reached  another  little  station  and  faced  a  wider  drift  on 
the  right,  some  twelve  feet  long.  Candles  were  flaring 
from  the  miners'  candlesticks,  whose  long  points  were 
thrust  into  stulls  or  the  softer  part  of  the  rock,  and  four 
men  were  manipulating  two  of  the  cumbersome  air  drills 
which  stood  on  tripods.  Gregory  made  a  sign  to  the  shift 
boss,  who  shut  off  a  valve,  and  the  din  stopped  abruptly. 

"Now,"  said  Gregory.  "This  is  what  you  have  come 
for."  He  moved  his  candle  along  the  brassy  glitter  of 
chalcopyrite  in  the  vein,  steadying  her  with  his  arm,  for 
the  floor  was  uneven  and  littered. 

Ora  trembled.  She  forgot  the  arm  about  her ;  it  felt 
like  mere  steel  for  that  matter;  she  was  in  one  of  the 
magic  caverns  of  her  dreams  and  she  thrilled  to  the  magnet 
of  the  ores.  "It  looks  like  pure  gold,"  she  whispered. 

"So  it  is  in  a  sense,  and  far  more  beautiful  to  look  at 
in  the  vein."  They  had  been  standing  near  the  opening 
of  the  drift.  He  guided  her  down  toward  the  farther 
end ;  the  miners  made  way  for  them  and  went  out  to  the 
station  nothing  loath;  owing  their  lives  to  what  has  cost 
many  a  man  his  life  and  more,  the  caprice  of  a  woman. 

"I  want  to  show  you  how  the  holes  look  before  we  put 
the  sticks  of  powder  in,"  Gregory  began,  as  he  waved  his 
candle  once  more  aloft,  this  time  over  a  less  dazzling  sur 
face.  He  stopped  abruptly.  She  felt  his  body  stiffen. 
Then,  as  he  whirled  her  about,  he  screamed  to  the  men: 

"Get  out!    Run!" 

Ora  had  the  sensation  of  being  swept  along  by  a  bar  ot 
steel  burrowing  into  the  flesh  of  her  waist.  But  m  an 
other  instant  she  had  lost  all  sense  of  her  body.  There 
was  a  shock  as  if  something  had  hit  the  hill  at  its  founda 
tions,  a  dull  roar,  and  then  the  crash  of  falling  rock  be 
hind  them. 

The  men  were  all  ahead.  Ora  dimly  could  see  them 
running  like  rabbits  up  the  fault  drift.  Then  she  became 
conscious  of  the  stifling  sickening  smell  of  powder  and  a 
bursting  sensation  in  her  head.  No  one  paused  for  a 
second,  nor  drew  breath  until  all  had  turned  the  corner 
and  were  in  the  main  level.  For  a  space  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  hoarse  effort  to  refill  tormented  lungs.  The 
men  leaned  against  the  walls  of  the  tunnel.  Ora  leaned 
against  Gregory.  All  sense  of  fear  had  departed  out  of 


290     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

her.  She  had  had  her  baptism  of  fire  and  doubted  if  she 
ever  should  be  capable  of  the  sensation  of  fear  again. 

The  silence  lasted  but  a  moment.  Out  of  the  intense 
darkness  flew  oaths  like  red-hot  rocks  from  boiling 
craters. 

"Shut  up!"  said  Gregory  sharply.  " There's  a  lady 
here.  And  light  up  if  you  have  any  extra  candles.  I've 
dropped  mine.  We  must  find  out  if  anybody  is  missing." 

"I  held  on  to  mine,"  said  Ora  proudly.  Gregory  lit  it, 
and  the  shift  boss  counted  his  men.  "All  here,  sir;  but 
by  jink,  it  was  a  narrow  squeak.  The — the — the " 

"Never  mind — who's  this?"  A  man  was  running  to 
ward  them  from  the  direction  of  the  shaft. 

"It's  me,  sir."  Gregory  recognised  Mann's  voice.  "I've 
just  got  on  to  what  they  were  up  to.  There  wasn't  a 
blamed  thing  the  matter  with  the  compressor.  They  just 
meant  to  catch  us  off  guard — anybody  hurt?" 

' '  All  right.    How  did  you  find  out  ? " 

"I  suspicioned  something  crooked,  so  I  got  one  of  those 
damned  bohunks  drunk  and  bribed  him.  They'd  put  in 
the  sticks  before  they  quit,  pretending  the  compressor  had 
gone  wrong  and  they  couldn't  finish  drilling.  I  suppose 
they  sneaked  back  while  I  was  getting  the  story,  and  lit 
the  fuses." 

"You'll  let  us  get  back  at  'em,  boss?"  demanded  the 
men. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Gregory,  in  a  voice  of  deadly  irony. 
"We'll  get  back  at  them." 

He  was  holding  the  candle.  Ora  saw  him  bend  his  head 
forward  in  the  attitude  so  characteristic  of  him.  But  he 
raised  it  in  a  moment. 

"Go  up,  every  one  of  you,"  he  said,  "and  down  to  the 
saloon.  Talk  about  what  happened,  but  assume  that  it 
was  an  accident.  Any  fighting  above  ground  and  you'll 
be  canned.  Say  that  there's  a  big  cave-in  and  we're 
obliged  to  quit  work  on  this  level  for  the  present.  See 
that  that  spreads  all  over  Apex  camp.  Say  that  I've 
given  you  the  rest  of  the  shift  off.  Come  down  as  soon  as 
you've  had  your  drink  and  said  your  say.  Jerry" — to 
the  shift  boss — ' '  you  watch  the  Apex  shaft  house.  I  don 't 
figure  that  they'll  go  down  under  an  hour,  on  account  of 
the  smoke,  but  if  they  do  just  drop  below.  I'll  wait  for 
you  here.  And  before  you  come,"  he  added  grimly,  "go 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     291 

over  to  the  compressor  house  and  tell  them  to  turn  the 
steam  on  the  air  line. ' ' 

"Hooray!"  The  shouting  of  the  men  made  almost  as 
much  noise  in  the  tunnel  as  the  recent  explosion.  "That's 
the  ticket,  boss.  Oh,  we  won't  do  a  thing  to  them!" 

"Get  out  of  this,"  said  the  shift  boss.  "Don't  take 
more  than  one  drink;  and  hold  on  to  your  tempers,  or 
there'll  be  no  fun  below." 

A  moment  later  Gregory  and  Ora  were  alone  in  the 
tunnel. 


XI 

"t-IOW  did  you  guess  ?"  asked  Ora. 

"I  didn't  guess.  I  saw  a  drill  hole  just  beyond 
where  my  men  were  working.  I  also  did  a  little  quick 
deduction.  Miners  blast  just  before  they  go  off  shift. 
The  afternoon  change  of  shift  is  at  three  o'clock.  As  I 
told  you  I  had  seen  the  Apex  men  come  up  about  one 
o'clock  when  their  compressor  stopped.  That  hole  not 
only  told  me  that  they  were  closer  than  we  had  thought, 
but  that  they  were  up  to  devilment.  I  guessed  that  they 
had  timed  to  blast  just  before  we  were  ready  to  drill  at 
that  point.  Were  you  very  much  frightened?" 

"I  didn't  like  it."  Ora  knew  that  bravery  in  woman 
makes  no  appeal  to  the  lordly  male.  ''But  I  hardly  had 
time  to  think;  and  after  all  you  left  me  nothing  to  do." 

"Well,  you  were  game  and  didn't  scream  or  cry,"  he 
conceded  handsomely.  "Let's  light  up." 

They  had  walked  as  far  as  the  station  at  the  foot  of 
the  shaft-  Gregory  unlocked  the  door  of  a  small  cup 
board,  found  two  candles  and  inserted  them  in  miners' 
candlesticks  that  were  stabbed  into  the  walls.  They  nick 
ered  in  the  draft  as  a  skip  rattled  up  from  the  second 
level,  but  relieved  the  oppressive  darkness. 

"Why,  your  hair  is  down!"  exclaimed  Gregory. 

Ora  put  up  a  hand.  ' '  So  it  is !  Well — I  am  sure  I  never 
should  know  if  my  hair  fell  down  at  a  good  play,  and 
ours  was  live  drama.  I'll  braid  it  and  put  on  my  veil  up 
above. ' ' 

He  watched  her  for  a  moment  as  she  sat  on  a  box  braid 
ing  her  long  fair  hair,  vaguely  recalling  the  legend  of 
the  Lorelei.  He  noticed  that  her  eyes  as  she  peered  up  at 
him  looked  green  in  that  uncertain  light.  But  in  a  mo 
ment  his  thoughts  wandered  from  her.  He  folded  his  arms 
and  stared  downward. 

Ora  leaned  back  against  the  wall.  She  saw  that  he  had 
forgotten  her,  but  had  made  up  her  mind  to  accept  him  as 
he  was;  she  had  no  more  desire  to  dictate  his  moods  than 

292 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     293 

to  read  in  advance  the  book  of  the  next  two  months. 
There  was  the  same  pleasurably  painful  vibration  in  her 
nerves  as  on  the  night  when  she  had  piled  stake  upon  stake 
at  Monte  Carlo.  From  that  scene  her  thoughts  travelled 
naturally  to  Valdobia  and  she  suddenly  laughed  aloud. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  demanded  Gregory  sus 
piciously. 

"I  was  trying  to  imagine  that  we  were  imprisoned  in 
the  underground  dungeon  of  an  Italian  palace  in  the 
middle  ages." 

"Hard  work,  I  should  think.  Although  if  we  had  a 
cave-in  I  guess  the  results  would  be  about  the  same." 

"And  you?  Were  you  seeing  your  minerals  winking 
three  thousand  feet  below?" 

He  laughed  then,  and  sat  beside  her.  "At  all  events 
the  mystery  down  there  is  more  romantic  than  your 
mediaeval  dungeons — and  so  will  the  great  underground 
caverns  be  when  the  ores  have  been  taken  out." 

"Pity  the  caverns — stopes! — have  to  be  filled  up  with 
debris  to  prevent  the  mine  caving  in,"  said  Ora  flip 
pantly.  "I  went  underground  in  Butte  last  week — to  the 
eighteenth  level  of  the  Leonard.  Nothing  but  endless 
streets  and  cross- alleys,  all  numbered " 

"And  you  didn't  find  that  interesting?"  he  asked  in 
dignantly.  "To  be  a  third  of  a  mile  below  the  surface 
of  the  earth  and  find  it  laid  out  like  a  city,  with  streets 
and  rooms,  and  stations  ten  times  as  large  as  this,  and 
lighted  with  electricity?" 

' '  Yes,  but  the  knowledge  that  you  have  a  third  of  a  mile 
of  those  streets  and  rooms — seventeen  levels  of  them — on 
top  of  you,  supported  only  by  waste  rock  in  the  stopes,  and 
timbers  that  are  always  snapping  in  two  from  the  terrific 
pressure — timbermen  working  at  every  turn — 'Save 
YOURSELF'  the  first  thing  you  see  when  you  leave  that 
cage — Oh,  well,  I  felt  there  was  quite  enough  romance  on 
top  of  the  earth." 

"  I  am  deeply  disappointed  in  you.  You  told  me  once — 
why,  even  lately " 

"Oh,  I  haven't  changed  the  least  little  bit.  Nothing  in 
life,"  and  she  looked  at  him  with  laughing  eyes,  "interests 
me  as  much  at  present  as  these  two  mines.  But  I  am 
thankful  that  we  are  still  within  a  reasonable  distance  of 
the  surface.  I  am  quite  content  to  screw  up  my  eyes  and 


294     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

wander  in  fancy  among  the  primary  deposits  close  to  the 
central  fires.  If  I  had  a  mine  like  yours,  full  of  the  beau 
tiful  copper  ores  instead  of  that  hideous  pyroxenite  of 
mine,  I  should  leave  a  glittering  layer  in  every  stope,  sup 
port  the  roof  with  polished  stone  columns,  light  with 
hidden  electric  bulbs,  and  wander  from  one  to  the  other 
imagining  myself  in  Aladdin's  palace. " 

"A  fine  practical  miner  you  would  make.  It's  lucky 
that  your  mine  is  pyroxenite,  not  quartz.  That  is  if  you 
want  to  live  in  Europe. — Do  you?" 

"Of  course.  What  have  I  in  this  part  of  the  world? 
A  mine  cannot  satisfy  a  woman  for  ever.  I  suppose  you 
wouldn  't  care  if  you  never  saw  a  woman  again ! ' ' 

' '  Oh ! "    He  was  looking  hard  at  her. 

"What  else  were  you  thinking  of  just  now?"  asked 
Ora,  with  that  perverse  desire  to  be  superficial  which  so 
often  possesses  American  women  in  decisive  moments. 

He  sighed  impatiently.  "I've  got  a  big  job  on  my 
hands,  one  that  will  take  me  away  from  here  more  or  less. 
Did  Mark  tell  you  of  a  land  deal  I  put  through?" 

"I  should  think  so!" 

"Well,  I've  got  to  build  that  railroad.  Apex  will  close 
down  when  it  finds  I  won't  let  its  men  work  underground. 
Amalgamated 's  next  move  will  be  to  bring  suit  for  apex 
rights,  and  get  out  an  injunction  to  enjoin  me  from  work 
ing  on  that  vein  until  the  case  is  decided.  As  soon  as  I 
have  driven  them  out  now,  however,  I  must  get  to  work 
on  the  railroad — find  my  engineers — Oh,  there  are  too 
many  details  to  bother  you  with.  But  it  means  that  I 
must  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  in  Butte  until  the  thing 
is  started " 

"How  delighted  Ida  will  be!"  interrupted  Ora  softly. 
' '  And  that  house  will  be  so  comfortable  after  your  cabin. ' ' 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak.  Nor  did  his  face  betray 
him;  but  she  fancied  that  his  muscles  stiffened.  He  re 
plied  suavely:  "I  should  have  gone  on  to  say  that  it  is 
more  likely  I  shall  have  to  attend  to  the  matter  in  Helena. 
That  is  the  centre  of  the  land  interest.  It  is  doubtful  if 
I  could  find  the  sort  of  men  I  want  in  Butte." 

"Have  you  any  other  land  schemes  on  hand?" 

"Not  at  present." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"Well — when  I  have  taken  a  couple  more  millions  out 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     295 

of  this  hill  I  shall  begin  to  buy  land,  put  it  under  the 
ditch,  build  the  short  railroads  that  may  be  necessary,  and 
sell  to  small  farmers — in  other  words  push  along  the 
colonisation  of  this  state.  I  believe  you  gave  me  that  idea 
— the  night  we  talked  Butte — the  first  time,  I  mean." 

"I  thought  you  had  forgotten  that  night  altogether. " 

"Forgotten  it!"  Ora's  heart  stood  still  at  the  explicit 
vibration  in  his  well-ordered  voice.  She  leaned  back  and 
closed  her  eyes.  He  had  loved  her  all  these  months,  dreamed 
of  her  as  she  had  dreamed  of  him.  Her  first  sensation 
of  wonder  and  delight  was  succeeded  by  a  faint  disap 
pointment. 

She  had  the  instinct  of  the  born  huntress,  although  she 
was  far  too  highly  civilised  to  have  recognised  it  before. 
She  wondered  if  his  capitulation  meant  her  own  deliver 
ance,  too  ignorant  in  the  ways  of  love  to  guess  that 
whether  this  were  a  passing  or  a  permanent  phase  de 
pended  on  the  man. 

While  Gregory  hurried  on  to  tell  her  of  all  he  should 
be  able  to  do  for  Montana  with  the  millions  at  present 
locked  in  the  vaults  of  his  hill,  she  had  a  full  moment  of 
honesty,  and  confessed  that  she  had  come  out  here  to  make 
Gregory  Compton  love  her.  And  he  did !  It  was  a  mighty 
personality  to  conquer ;  and  the  victory  had  been  won  long 
since!  But  the  disappointment  passed  in  a  cynical  smile. 
That  he  had  no  intention  of  declaring  himself  her  lover 
was  as  patent  as  his  inhuman  power  of  self-control.  Here 
were  barricades  to  storm  if  barricades  she  wanted  ?  "What 
difference?  And  did  she? 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  shaft, 
looking  up. 

"They're  coming  down,"  he  said. 

Joshua  Mann  emerged  a  moment  later. 

"Apex  bunch  being  rounded  up  to  go  below,"  he  said. 
"Our  men  are  on  the  way." 

"Steam  on  the  air  line?" 

"You  bet!" 

"Let's  get  to  work."  He  turned  to  Ora.  "Stay  here 
till  I  come  back,"  he  said  peremptorily.  "I  can't  take 
you  up  in  the  skip  now." 

"I  am  quite  comfortable,"  said  Ora,  coolly.  "How 
many  men  will  come  down?" 

"Five."    And  he  and  Mann  disappeared  into  the  tunnel. 


296     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Ora  waited  until  the  other  men  had  descended  one  by 
one  and  run  into  the  blackness.  Then  she  dislodged  one 
of  the  candlesticks  from  the  wall  and  ran  after  them. 
When  she  reached  the  fault  drift  she  thrust  the  long  point 
of  the  candlestick  into  a  stull  before  turning  the  corner. 
Then  she  crept  toward  the  station,  from  which  she  could 
witness  the  punishment  about  to  be  inflicted  upon  the 
Apex  men,  whatever  it  might  be. 

There  was  a  glimmer  of  light  in  the  new  drift.  Ora 
saw  the  men  binding  a  piece  of  hose  to  the  same  length  of 
pipe.  They  attached  the  hose  to  the  air  line  and  held  it 
just  inside  the  ragged  hole  some  twelve  feet  above. 

There  was  a  distant  murmur  of  voices  overhead  and  to 
the  right.  The  solitary  candle  was  extinguished.  The 
murmur  of  voices  in  the  drift  which  led  from  Apex 
shaft  along  the  continuation  of  the  Primo  vein  grew 
louder.  Men  were  laughing.  One  man  was  giving  orders. 
It  appeared  that  they  were  to  let  themselves  down  and 
go  systematically  to  work  on  the  Perch  vein,  which  was 
now  driving  under  the  Apex  claim. 

Ora  heard  a  sharp  whispered  word:  "Now!"  and  barely 
recognised  Gregory's  voice.  A  second  later  and  she  was 
deafened  by  the  roar  and  hiss  of  escaping  steam,  mingled 
with  shrieks  of  agony  above,  and  fiendish  cat-calls  and 
jeers  below,  all  expressed  in  the  spectacular  profanity  of 
the  mining  camp.  The  episode  was  over  in  a  moment. 
The  Apex  men  tumbled  over  one  another  in  their  anxiety 
to  leave  the  scene,  and  those  manifestly  disabled — Ora 
could  hear  them  gasping  horribly  as  the  steam  was  turned 
off  abruptly — were  dragged  away.  She  felt  her  own  way 
rapidly  along  the  fault  drift,  snatched  her  candlestick 
from  the  wall  as  she  turned  the  corner,  and  scampered 
back  to  the  shaft  station.  When  the  men  arrived  she  was 
sitting  demurely  on  the  box.  Gregory  evidently  had  tele 
phoned  from  the  other  station,  for  the  skip  came  rattling 
down  just  before  his  appearance  at  the  head  of  his  laugh 
ing,  cursing  column. 

"Did  it  go  off  well?"  asked  Ora. 

"Did  it?"  cried  Mann,  tossing  his  cap  in  the  air. 

"They're  settled  for  the  moment,"  said  Gregory. 
"They'll  come  back  at  us  later  with  steam  on  their  own 
air  line,  and  slacked  lime;  but  we'll  be  ready  for  them. 
They  stand  no  show." 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     297 

Two  of  the  men  had  been  left  on  watch.  Gregory  lifted 
Ora  into  the  skip.  He  and  Mann  stood  on  the  edge.  A 
second  more  and  Ora  was  holding  her  breath  as  they  were 
hurtled  upward  at  express  speed,  the  metal  car  banging 
from  side  to  side  of  the  shaft.  In  something  under  three- 
quarters  of  a  minute  Gregory  helped  her  to  alight  in  the 
shaft  house,  while  the  skip  descended  for  the  miners. 

''Well,"  he  said,  smiling,  as  she  lifted  her  braid  to  the 
top  of  her  head  and  wound  the  veil  about  it,  "have  you 
supped  full  of  sensations  for  one  day?" 

"The  last  was  the  worst!  And  I  do  mean  the  skip. 
Now  that  we  are  where  you  cannot  beat  me  I  will  confess 
that  I  followed  you  and  saw  your  neat  little  mediaeval  re 
venge  from  the  station " 

"Hush!"  Gregory  glanced  about  apprehensively,  and 
drew  her  outside.  "You  mustn't  tell  anyone  else  that. 
You  don't  want  to  be  summoned  to  the  witness  stand,  I  sup 
pose?" 

Ora  gasped.     "I  never  thought  of  that." 

"When  will  women  let  men  do  their  thinking?"  Greg 
ory  looked  the  primeval  male  as  he  scowled  down  at  her. 
Nor  did  he  mitigate  her  alarms  with  the  information  that 
underground  battles  seldom  were  continued  in  the  courts. 
' '  Now,  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  your  cottage,  and  I  want 
you  to  stay  there  until  the  trouble  is  over.  The  men  are 
bound  to  get  drunk  and  fight.  Better  go  to  Butte " 

"I  won't." 

"Very  well,  then,  stay  in  your  house." 

"And  be  bored  to  death?  Besides,  I  need  exercise.  I'll 
roam  all  over  the  place  unless  you  promise  to  come  to 
supper  every  night  and  then  take  me  for  a  walk  in  the 
woods. ' ' 

His  eyes  nickered.    "Perhaps  your  engineer " 

"He's  a  mere  child.  I  hate  boys.  And  I  must  have 
exercise. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  with  apparent  stolidity  for  another 
moment,  but  she  knew  that  he  was  investigating  her  ex 
pressive  orbs.  They  expressed  nothing  that  could  be  con 
strued  as  flirtation,  coquetry,  or  personal  interest  in  hkn- 
self.  He  saw  himself  mirrored  there  merely  as  the  friend 
of  her  husband  and  the  husband  of  her  friend.  "Very 
well,"  he  said  curtly  and  swung  on  his  heel.  "I  suppose 
I  must  look  out  for  you.  Come  along." 


XII 

BE  GORY  had  worn  a  clean  suit  of  overalls  into  the 
mine.  He  was  now  spattered  from  head  to  foot,  in 
cluding  his  face  and  hands,  but  he  swung  along  beside 
Ora  with  an  unconsciousness  of  his  disreputable  appear 
ance  that  was  quite  superb.  All  the  miners  of  the  three 
camps  off  shift  were  gathered  about  the  saloon.  As  Greg 
ory  appeared  the  greater  number  of  these  men  cheered 
wildly,  but  the  "dark  men,"  who  stood  apart,  maintained 
an  ominous  silence. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  they  11  take  a  shot  at  you  some 
night?"  asked  Ora.  "How  they  must  hate  you!" 

"You  don't  go  into  any  business  nowadays  and  put  it 
over  without  running  the  risk  of  being  shot  by  some  sort 
of  down-and-outer.  What's  the  sense  in  worrying?  Un 
less  I'm  much  mistaken  we'll  be  rid  of  that  scum  inside 
of  twenty-four  hours." 

And  he  was  right.  There  was  another  battle  under 
ground,  in  which  more  of  the  Apex  men  were  scalded, 
and  the  Perch  men  unhurt.  Then  the  Apex  men  refused 
to  work,  and  the  mine  closed.  Gregory  was  shot  at  on 
the  following  night,  and  Joshua  Mann  was  slightly 
wounded.  Both  the  Perch  and  Primo  men  tumbled  out  of 
bed,  hunted  down  the  offenders,  and  chased  them  into 
Pony,  riddling  the  air  with  shot  and  rending  it  with  blood 
thirsty  yells.  It  would  be  some  time  before  Apex  would 
be  able  to  hire  miners  of  any  nationality  willing  to  trust 
themselves  between  the  two  belligerent  camps.  But  bo- 
hunks — more  recent  importations — would  return  in  the 
future,  if  any.  These  ignorant  and  friendless  South  Euro 
peans  can  be  killed  for  about  two  hundred  dollars  apiece, 
whereas  it  costs  several  thousands  to  kill  an  American, 
Cornishman,  or  Irishman,  as  he  leaves  behind  him  an 
equally  intelligent  family  or  friends.  It  was  unlikely,  in 
any  case,  that  high  class  miners  would  "take  a  job"  in  the 
predatory  Apex.  They  not  only  liked  Gregory  Compton 

298 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     299 

because  lie  was  his  own  manager  and  worshipped  by  his 
miners,  but  because  he  possessed  in  overflowing  measure 
the  two  qualities  that  the  American  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
respects  most,  luck  and  bluff. 

Amalgamated  immediately  brought  suit  against  Gregory 
Compton,  charging  not  only  that  the  faulted  vein  apexed 
in  their  claim,  but  that  his  original  patent  was  agricul 
tural  and  gave  him  no  lateral  rights  in  mining;  further 
more,  that  a  patented  claim  could  not  be  repatented.  This 
was  a  fine  legal  point  and  could  impoverish  several  genera 
tions  before  it  was  decided. 

Gregory  paid  no  attention  to  this  suit  beyond  issuing 
an  invitation  through  the  press  to  eight  of  the  leading 
geologists  of  the  United  States  and  Canada  to  come  to 
Montana  at  his  expense  and  make  a  personal  inspection 
of  the  two  veins.  If  they  did  not  agree  that  the  vein  on 
which  he  had  been  working,  containing  a  shoot  of  chal- 
copyrite  six  feet  wide,  and  of  the  highest  grade,  was  the 
original  vein,  and  the  Primo-Apex  a  mere  stringer,  or  at 
most  a  fork  from  his,  he  would  let  the  suit  go  by  default. 
The  geologists  promptly  accepted,  and  it  was  agreed  that 
they  should  all  arrive  in  Butte  on  the  second  of  June. 

Once  more  Gregory  Compton  had  scored.  Scientific 
men  are  normally  honest,  although  the  great  fees  offered  to 
geologists  frequently  infuse  their  judgment  with  that  mal 
leable  quality  peculiar  to  the  lawyer  under  the  subtle  in 
fluence  of  his  brief.  But  these  men,  all  of  high  repute, 
would  be  too  afraid  of  one  another,  and  of  the  merciless 
newspaper  men  that  would  accompany  them,  to  deliver 
aught  but  a  just  verdict.  Gregory  knew  that  Amalga 
mated  was  profoundly  disconcerted,  and  that  in  the  face 
of  public  opinion  it  was  improbable  that  the  suit  ever 
would  be  brought  into  court.  But  they  could  devil  him 
meanwhile,  and  he  was  enjoined  from  working  on  the 
recovered  vein  until  the  case  should  be  decided.  He  ac 
cepted  the  injunction  without  protest  and  transferred  the 
miners,  whom  he  had  kept  hard  at  work  blocking  out  until 
the  last  minute,  down  to  the  second  level  of  the  mine. 

"They'll  get  a  jolt  from  that  quarter,  too,"  said  Greg 
ory  to  Ora,  and  he  was  not  referring  to  the  miners. 
"They'll  go  on  fighting  me  for  years,  no  doubt,  but  I'll 
spring  some  sort  of  a  facer  on  them  every  time.  They  may 
have  more  money,  but  I  have  enough." 


300     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

' '  You  never  feel  afraid  they  may  beat  you  in  the  end  ? ' ' 

"Beat  me?"  Gregory's  eyes  glittered.  "Not  unless 
they  bore  a  hole  in  my  skull  and  introduce  a  microbe  that 
will  devour  my  brains.  I  can  get  ahead  of  them  in  more 
ways  than  one.  Long  before  all  the  ore  on  the  second 
level  is  stoped  out  I  shall  be  in  a  position  to  put  up  my 
own  reduction  works  if  they  freeze  me  out  of  Anaconda 
or  Great  Falls.  If  I  ever  go  into  politics  it  will  be  to 
fight  for  a  state  smelter. ' ' 

Ora  looked  at  him  speculatively.  He  was  walking  up 
and  down  her  living-room  with  a  swift  gliding  motion 
peculiar  to  him  in  certain  moods;  his  head  was  a  little 
bent  as  if  his  narrow  concentrated  gaze  were  following  a 
trail. 

"I  believe  you  love  the  fight  as  much  as  any  part  of 
it,"  she  said. 

"I  do.  And  as  soon  as  I've  taken  out  money  enough 
I'm  going  to  buy  a  big  tract  of  land,  irrigate  it,  plant  it 
in  beets,  put  up  a  sugar  refinery  and  fight  the  Havemeyer 
trust." 

"Why  don't  you  form  a  company,  buy  your  beet  land, 
and  put  up  the  factory  now?  You  could  raise  all  the 
money  you  wanted." 

"No  companies  or  partners  for  me,"  he  said  curtly. 
"What  I'll  do  I'll  do  alone.  I  want  no  man's  help  and 
no  man's  money.  And  I  certainly  want  no  other  man's 
ideas  interfering  with  mine." 

Ora  sighed.  He  had  been  away  for  a  week  on  his  rail 
road  and  land  business,  and  during  this,  their  first  meet 
ing  since  his  return,  he  had  talked  of  nothing  save  his 
mine  and  the  new  possibilities  of  Circle  G  Ranch.  In 
vestigation  of  the  soil  and  timber  values  of  the  35,000  acres 
which  he  had  originally  hypothecated  as  a  guarantee  that 
the  railroad  should  be  built,  but  which  perforce  had  re 
verted  to  him  when  the  Land  Selling  Company  had  failed 
to  keep  this  part  of  their  contract,  would  be  worth,  after 
proper  transportation  facilities  were  insured,  not  less  than 
twenty-five  dollars  an  acre.  A  member  of  the  Land  Sell 
ing  Company  whom  he  had  taken  with  him  had  been  con 
vinced  of  this,  and  that  the  soil  was  peculiarly  adapted 
to  the  raising  of  apples  by  intensive  culture.  As  soon 
as  the  railroad  was  built  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in 
selling  the  timber  and  the  rest  of  the  land,  and  the  Com- 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     301 

pany  had  agreed  to  buy  it.  His  profits  would  be  $875,000, 
and  the  railroad  would  cost  but  $300,000. 

No  wonder,  thought  Ora,  that  a  man  with  a  business 
brain  of  that  calibre  had  little  place  in  it  for  woman. 
True,  he  had  called  her  up  once  from  Helena,  evidently 
seized  with  a  sudden  desire  to  hear  her  voice,  but  he  had 
been  interrupted;  and  the  only  tangible  result  had  been 
to  keep  her  in  such  a  fever  of  expectancy  that  she  barely 
had  left  the  house  lest  he  call  her  up  again  and  she  miss 
him.  He  did  not,  and  her  nerves  had  become  so  ragged 
that  she  almost  had  hated  him  and  obeyed  the  impulse  to 
pack  her  trunks  and  flee  to  Europe.  He  had  come  to  see 
her  within  an  hour  of  his  return,  but,  beyond  his  rare  de 
lightful  smile  and  a  hard  pressure  of  the  hand,  he  had 
manifestly  been  too  absorbed  to  feel  any  personal  appeal 
beyond  her  always  welcome  companionship. 

And  the  next  morning  he  telephoned  that  he  was  leav 
ing  for  Butte.  Ida  had  reminded  him  of  his  promise  to 
appear  in  public  with  her.  Mary  Garden  was  to  sing  that 
night  and  she  had  taken  a  box.  He  had  grumbled  but 
finally  agreed  to  go,  as  he  had  business  in  Butte  which 
might  as  well  be  transacted  that  afternoon.  Ida  thanked 
him  politely  and  promised  him  an  interesting  party  at 
dinner.  Then  she  called  up  Ora  and  invited  her,  but  Ora 
declined  on  the  plea  of  good  taste;  the  story  of  her  im 
pending  divorce  was  common  property,  and  it  was  hardly 
decent  for  her  to  appear  in  public. 


XIII 

13  EACTION,  after  the  emotional  recognition  of  the 
subtle  but  certain  change  that  had  been  wrought  in 
her  unsuspected  depths,  had  filled  Ida  for  many  hours 
with  a  sullen  rage  against  Gregory  Compton  and  herself. 
But  in  a  day  or  two  the  buoyancy  of  youth  and  the  com 
mon  sense,  of  which  she  possessed  an  uncommon  store, 
asserted  themselves,  and,  while  devoting  her  time  to  the 
small  daily  distractions  of  society,  her  determination  to 
win  back  her  husband  never  waned  for  a  moment.  She 
knew  that  she  must  play  the  waiting  game,  keep  a  sharp 
eye  out  for  the  blessed  opportunity  and  pounce  upon  it, 
but  make  no  attempt  to  "rush  things." 

The  day  after  the  Apex  mine  closed  down,  she  rang  him 
up  and  offered  her  congratulations,  told  him  something  of 
the  excitement  in  Butte,  then  rang  off  before  he  began  to 
feel  detained.     As  he  passed  through  Butte  later,  on  his 
way  to  Helena,  he  could  do  no  less  than  call  on  her,  and, 
to  his  relief  and  her  secret  rage,  he  found  several  pleasant 
people  taking  tea  in  the  library.     But  she  showed  her 
pride  in  him  so  frankly  that  he  could  not  but  be  flattered 
and  talked  so  intelligently  of  the  undoubted  sequel  of  the 
battle  underground   that  he   forgot  her   guests   and   ad 
dressed  his  conversation  to  her.     She  drew  him  on  to  de 
scribe  that  grim  but  picturesque  episode  underground,  and 
he  would  have  been  less  than  man  had  he  failed  to  be 
sensible  of  the  rise  of  his  chest  while  surrounded  by  a 
breathless  circle  of  charming  women.     When  they  were 
about  to  withdraw  tactfully  and  leave  him  alone  with  his 
wife,  he  glanced  at  his  watch,  bade  them  all  a  hasty  good 
bye  and  bolted  out  to  catch  his  train.    Ida  once  more  had 
been  able  to  exhibit  to  her  little  world  an  evidence  of  the 
pleasant  understanding  between  herself  and  her  busy  hus 
band,  and  got  what  consolation  out  of  this  fact  that  she 
could. 

"I  can  wait/'  she  thought  grimly.     "I  can  wait!     I 

302 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     303 

guess  patience  is  my  one  all-wool-and-a-yard-wide  virtue. 
Ill  wait!" 

She  gave  several  small  dinners  and  a  dancing  party, 
devoted  to  the  new  excitement  of  "ragging,"  in  which 
no  one  became  more  proficient  than  herself.  She  "went" 
harder  than  ever,  and  even  joined  the  more  extreme 
younger  set  (elegantly  known  as  "The  Bunch")  one 
night  in  a  progress  among  the  road  houses  of  The  Flat, 
and  danced  in  the  ballroom  of  the  Five  Mile  House  until 
dawn.  But  she  had  no  real  taste  for  this  side  of  life ;  and 
did  penance  by  visiting  the  Poor  Farm  and  several  other 
charities  under  the  wing  of  Mrs.  Cameron.  Her  popu 
larity  on  all  sides  was  unchallenged,  and  not  only  was  she 
firmly  established  in  the  city  of  her  heart,  but  Mrs.  Cam 
eron  had  offered  to  take  a  house  with  her  in  New  York 
for  the  following  winter  if  she  cared  to  mount  still  higher. 
She  was  gratified  and  grateful,  but  she  was  filled  with  that 
desperate  loneliness  that  only  a  man  can  banish. 

On  the  night  of  the  opera  she  wore  black  velvet  un 
relieved  and  never  had  looked  handsomer.  The  neck  of 
the  apparently  inseverable  gown  was  cut  square,  and  her 
beautiful  arms  were  exposed  as  far  to  the  top  as  fashion 
permitted;  she  wore  her  hair  banded  closely  about  her 
head,  and,  at  the  base  of  her  throat,  a  barbaric  necklace  of 
dull  red  and  blue  stones  that  she  had  picked  up  in  an 
antiquity  shop  in  Munich.  As  she  sat  in  her  box  between 
Mrs.  Cameron  and  Mrs.  Collier,  one  of  the  handsomest 
and  best  dressed  of  the  younger  women  of  Butte,  Gregory, 
who  sat  behind  and  facing  the  house,  saw  that  during  the 
first  entr'acte  the  audience  levelled  its  glasses  at  her 
constantly,  and  that,  indisputably,  she  divided  the  honours 
of  the  night  with  the  prima  donna. 

He  looked  at  her  more  than  once  himself,  her  classic 
beauty,  or  the  classic  effect  she  made  it  produce,  appeal 
ing  to  his  aesthetic  sense  as  beauty  in  any  form  always 
did.  He  wondered  a  little  that  it  should  so  have  lost  its 
once  irresistible  appeal  to  his  senses,  wondered  again  if 
he  could  not  still  have  loved  her  well  enough  to  live  with 
had  Ora  never  entered  his  life.  Certainly  he  was  very 
proud  of  her,  and  her  conversation  as  well  as  her  person 
ality  interested  him.  He  respected  her  profoundly  for 
v;hat  she  had  achieved,  giving  her  full  credit  for  the 
revolution  in  appearance,  manners,  and  speech,  in  spite  of 


304     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

her  exceptional  opportunities.  Then  he  forgot  her  as  his 
thoughts  wandered  to  Ora,  whom  he  saw  sitting  alone  in 
her  warm  shadowy  room,  in  which  he  had  come  to  feel  so 
much  at  home.  As  he  always  went  to  her  when  he  was 
tired  after  a  day  filled  with  excitement  or  hard  physical 
labour,  he  experienced  only  peace  and  content  in  her  near 
ness;  but  when  away,  as  tonight,  and  with  the  music  of 
Thai's  singing  into  his  keen  responsive  nerves,  he  was  filled 
with  an  inexpressible  longing. 

He  was  roused  by  a  faint  exclamation  from  Ida.  She 
was  leaning  forward.  A  moment  later  a  man,  whom  he 
had  never  seen  before  and  who  looked  like  an  Englishman 
of  distinction,  silently  entered  the  box.  Ida  left  her  chair, 
and  gave  him  both  her  hands  in  greeting,  then  went  with 
him  out  into  the  passageway  where  their  conversation 
would  not  interfere  with  her  guests'  enjoyment  of  the 
music. 

Gregory  felt  very  much  like  any  other  husband  at  that 
moment.  He  was  conscious  of  no  sting  of  jealousy,  or 
stab  of  doubt,  but  he  did  not  like  it.  He  also  received  a 
distinct  impression  that  his  rights  of  proprietorship  were 
menaced.  Moreover,  he  was  so  invaded  by  mere  curiosity 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  refrained  from  gratifying  it 
at  once.  But,  although  he  belonged  to  the  type  of  Western 
man  who  would  shoot  the  filcher  of  his  woman  without  an 
instant's  consideration,  he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

Ida  tried  his  patience  but  a  few  moments.  As  soon  as 
the  curtain  fell  she  re-entered  the  box  and  presented  the 
stranger  as  Lord  John  Mowbray,  who  had  arrived  by  the 
evening  train  and  sought  the  opera  house  as  a  relief  from 
the  hotel.  She  did  not  add  that  he  had  telephoned  at 
once  to  her  house  and  followed  her  as  quickly  as  he  could 
change  his  clothes. 

The  husband  was  the  last  to  be  made  known  to  the 
distinguished  stranger,  and  in  spite  of  Mowbray's  ability 
to  look  vacuous,  and  Gregory 's  to  look  like  a  graven  image, 
neither  could  repress  a  spark  under  his  lowered  lids. 
Mowbray  reared  his  haughty  crest  at  once  and  turned 
away.  Like  many  young  Englishman  he  blushed  easily, 
and  he  was  by  no  means  the  first  man  to  feel  uncomfort 
able  under  the  eyes  of  Gregory  Compton.  He  felt  the 
colour  rising  to  his  white  forehead,  and  was  not  sorry  to 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     305 

present  his  splendid  back  and  length  of  limb  to  that  search 
ing  gaze. 

He  sat  close  to  Ida  during  the  last  act,  and  then  the 
party  went  to  her  house  to  supper,  there  being  no  res 
taurant  worthy  the  name  in  Butte.  Gregory  detained  Ida 
at  the  door  after  the  other  had  entered. 

"Good  night,"  he  said.  "Luning  promised  to  wait  for 
me  at  his  office.  I  shall  talk  to  him  until  it  is  time  to 
catch  the  train  for  Pony." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Ida  politely,  and  smiling 
charmingly.  "So  will  the  others  be.  And  I  wanted  you 
to  talk  to  Lord  John.  His  brother  has  a  ranch  in  Wy 
oming,  and  he  has  come  here  on  some  mining  business.  I 
am  so  glad  to  see  him  again.  The  men  here  are — well,  they 
are  all  right,  but  quite  absorbed  in  one  thing  only — what 
ever  their  profession  or  business  happens  to  be.  Lord 
John  knows  a  little  about  everything.  I  am  sure  you 
would  like  him.  Do  ask  me  to  take  him  out  to  the  mine. 
He  is  a  friend  of  Ora's,  too.  She  will  ask  us  if  you  don't." 

"Come  whenever  you  like.  If  I'm  not  there  my  fore 
man  will  show  you  round.  Good  night."  And  he  was 
off.  Ida,  feeling  that  Mowbray's  arrival  had  been  timed 
by  Providence,  went  in  to  her  guests. 


XIV 

is  this  Mowbray?"    Gregory  asked  Ora  abruptly 
on  the  following  evening.    He  was  in  Ora's  living- 
room,  his  long  legs  stretched  out  to  the  fire. 

Ora,  who  was  working  on  a  small  piece  of  embroidery  in 
a  frame,  superlatively  feminine,  enveloped  in  a  tea  gown 
imponderable  and  white,  looked  up  in  surprise.  They  had 
been  sitting  together  for  an  hour  or  more  and  their  con 
versation  had  been  wholly  of  his  plans  to  entertain  his 
party  of  geologists,  and  the  attention  this  sensational  flank 
attack  had  attracted  throughout  the  country. 

"Is  Lord  John  here?" 

"Yes.    Came  into  the  box  last  night.    Handsome  chap." 

"Mowbray  is  a  dear.  We  saw  a  great  deal  of  him,  and 
he  bought  our  tickets  and  helped  us  off  generally,  when 
we  were  so  upset  over  your  cable." 

"Ah!     Tame  cat?     General  utility  man?" 

' '  Hardly !  He 's  full  of  life  and  a  charming  companion. ' ' 

"Hm." 

There  was  another  silence  and  then  he  asked  abruptly: 
"Is  he  in  love  with  Ida?" 

This  time  Ora  dropped  her  work  and  sat  up  rigidly; 
her  hands  turned  cold.  There  was  a  peculiar  alteration 
of  pitch  in  Gregory's  voice  that  might  register  jealousy  in 
a  hypersensitive  ear.  And  when  his  face  looked  most  like 
a  bronze  reproduction  of  itself,  his  friends  deduced  that 
he  was  masking  emotion. 

Ora's  brain  always  worked  swiftly.  Was  it  possible 
that  by  subtle  manipulation  she  could  reunite  this  man 
and  her  friend?  That  he  loved  herself  she  no  longer 
doubted,  but  it  was  equally  doubtful  if  he  would  ever 
confess  it;  on  the  cards  that  if  he  did  he  never  would  see 
her  again.  If  she  left  the  country  after  adroitly  re 
awakening  his  interest  in  Ida  and  playing  on  his  vanity 
and  jealousy,  would  not  reacticfn,  the  desire  for  consola 
tion  and  companionship,  carry  him  straight  to  the  wife 

306 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     307 

whose  beauty  and  magnetism  had  once,  and  not  so  long 
ago,  aroused  all  the  ardours  of  his  manhood?  Ida  was  far 
more  beautiful  now,  and  quite  capable  of  holding  any 
man.  Ora  did  not  for  a  moment  believe  that  Ida  loved 
her  husband,  or  never  would  she  herself  have  returned  to 
Butte ;  but  she  had  divined  her  mortification,  her  wounded' 
pride;  and  as  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  Ida  needed 
and  was  entitled  to  the  protection  of  her  husband. 

Was  this  her  moment?  Her  great  opportunity?  Her 
bosom  heaved,  her  breath  came  short.  Almost  she  experi 
enced  the  subtle  delights  of  renunciation,  of  sacrifice,  of 
the  martyrdom  of  woman.  It  would  be  a  great  role  to 
play,  a  great  memory.  And  after  all  she  had  Valdobia. 
It  was  this  last  irresistible  reflection  that  gave  her  soaring 
spirit  a  sharp  tumble  and  she  laughed  aloud. 

Gregory  turned  his  head  and  smiled  as  he  met  the 
cynical  amusement  in  her  eyes.  "What  is  it?" 

'  *  I  was  merely  commiserating  poor  Mowbray.  Of  course 
he  is  more  or  less  epris;  but  Ida — she  hasn't  it  in  her  to 
love  any  man. ' ' 

"That  is  the  conclusion  I  arrived  at  long  ago.  But  it 
looked  as  if  he  had  followed  her  here,  and  I  don't  care  for 
that  sort  of  talk." 

' '  He  had  planned  to  visit  his  brother  in  Wyoming  before 
we  met  him  in  Genoa.  Don't  worry.  Ida  never  will  let 
any  man  compromise  her.  She  '11  parade  her  son  of  a  duke 
for  the  benefit  of  Butte,  but  if  he  shows  signs  of  getting 
out  of  hand  she'll  pack  him  off." 

"Yes,  Ida  is  too  ambitious  to  compromise  herself." 

And  then  another  little  arrow  flew  into  Ora's  brain. 
Her  hands  trembled,  but  she  clenched  them  in  her  lap. 
"Gregory,"  she  said  steadily,  "as  you  and  Ida  no  longer 
love  each  other,  why  don't  you  suggest  a  divorce?  She 
could  marry  Mowbray  and  have  a  big  position  in  London 
— his  brother  is  almost  sure  not  to  marry — is  a  wreck — 
Ida  would  be  quite  in  her  element  as  a  duchess — and  you— 
you — would  be  free — if  you  ever  wanted  to  marry  again." 

When  nature  has  given  a  man  a  dark  skin  and  he  has 
permitted  it  to  accumulate  yearly  coats  of  tan,  it  is  diffi 
cult  for  him  to  turn  white  under  the  stress  of  emotion; 
but  Gregory  achieved  th'is  phenomenon  as  he  realised 
abruptly  what  freedom  might  mean  to  him.  He  stood  up 
and  leaned  his  back  against  the  high  chinmeypiece,  thrust- 


308     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

ing  his  hands  into  his  pockets ;  he  had  long  nervous  fingers 
which  sometimes  betrayed  him  when  his  face  was  set. 

"Ida  would  never  consent  to  a  divorce,"  he  said  heavily. 

She 's  got  all  sorts  of  old-fashioned  American  ideals.  The 
West  has  the  reputation  for  being  lawless,  and  it's  got 
more  Puritans  to  the  square  inch  than  are  left  in  New 
England.  Ida's  one  of  them." 

"She  may  have  acquired  more  liberal  ideas  in  Europe. " 

"She  told  me  that  she  didn't  care  if  she  never  saw 
Europe  again.  Last  night  I  had  quite  a  long  talk  with 
her  before  the  others  came  in  for  dinner.  She  said  she 
thought  it  the  duty  of  Western  women — particularly  the 
women  of  the  newer  Northwest — to  live  in  their  native 
state  and  only  go  away  occasionally  in  order  to  bring 
something  back  to  it.  She  intimated  that  you  put  that  idea 
into  her  head  when  you  two  first  met. ' ' 

Oh,  yes,  I  believe  that  to  be  right,  whatever  I  may  do, 
myself." 

"What  is  your  idea  in  going  to  Europe  to  live?  You 
are  just  the  sort  of  woman  the  West  needs."  He  bit  out 
his  words  in  the  effort  to  be  calm  and  casual. 

"I  don't  feel  that  I  have  any  place  here." 

Gregory  started  on  a  restless  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"Look  at  here,"  he  shot  out  finally,  "are  you — I  haven't 
said  anything  about  it — but — of  course  I've  wanted  to — 
are  you  determined  to  leave  Mark?  He's  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world.  I  hate  to  see  him  thrown  down. 
You — you — I  think  you  should  reconsider." 

"I  had  done  all  my  considering  before  I  spoke  to  Mark. 
I  am  doing  him  the  greatest  possible  kindness.  He  needs 
another  sort  of  woman  altogether  to  make  him  happy. 
And  I?  Have  I  not  my  right  to  happiness?  Do  you 
think  I  could  find  it  with  Mark?" 

"No!"  The  word  exploded.  "And  you— shall  you 
marry  again?" 

"I  don't  know."  Ora  spoke  in  a  strangled  voice.  New 
possibilities  were  shaking  her  to  her  foundations.  For  a 
moment  the  perverse  imp  in  the  purely  feminine  section 
of  her  brain  counselled  her  to  run  away  as  ever  from  the 
serious  mood  in  man,  to  play  with  great  issues  and  then 
dodge  them.  But  she  brushed  the  prompting  aside  with 
frantic  haste  and  summoned  her  courage.  If  this  was 
happiness  coming  to  her  grasp  she  would  seize  it. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     309 

Gregory  came  swiftly  back  from  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  and  stood  before  her.  He  had  set  the  muscles  of  the 
lower  part  of  his  face  so  tightly  that  he  could  hardly  open 
his  mouth,  but  his  narrow  eyes  were  blazing.  "If  Ida 
would  give  me  my  freedom,"  he  said,  "I  should  want  to 
marry  you.  Do  you  understand?" 

Ora  stood  up.  Her  white  face  was  so  radiant  that 
Gregory  fell  back.  "You  love  me?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.— Oh,  yes " 

"You  would  marry  me?" 

"Yes!" 

Gregory  stared  at  her,  wondering  if  she  really  were 
suffused  with  white  fire.  Her  hands  fluttered  toward  him, 
and  his  own  face  was  suddenly  relaxed,  unmasked.  Ora's 
lips  parted  and  she  bent  forward.  She  knew  then  why 
men  and  women  sacrificed  the  world  when  they  found 
their  predestined  mates.  Here  was  the  one  man  who  could 
give  her  primal  joy,  suffocate  her  intellect.  And  the 
knowledge  that  she  was  capable  of  such  passion  and  of  the 
sacrifices  it  might  involve  gave  her  far  more  satisfaction 
than  her  former  brief  mood  of  renunciation. 

She  made  another  step  forward,  but  Gregory  was  at 
the  door.  "Talk  to  Ida!"  he  said  harshly.  "I  leave  it 
to  you.  Go  to  see  her  tomorrow.  You  can  do  anything 
with  her.  You  must!" 

And  he  was  out  of  the  house.  He  left  the  door  open 
and  Ora  could  hear  his  light  running  footsteps. 


XV 

N  the  following  morning  Gregory,  who  had  spent  the 
night  in  the  mine  and  had  just  come  up  to  the  cabin, 
heard  his  telephone  ring  as  he  was  about  to  take  his  bath 
and  go  to  bed.  His  first  impulse  was  to  ignore  the  sum 
mons,  but,  his  business  instinct  prevailing,  he  went  into 
the  office  and  unhooked  the  receiver. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  both  flat  and  uninviting. 

"It  is  Ida.  How  tired  your  voice  sounds.  I  won't  keep 
you  a  minute.  I  have  a  plan  to  suggest.  Why  not  let  me 
put  up  those  geologists?  Mrs.  Cameron  has  asked  me  to 
stay  with  her  and  will  come  over  and  help  me  entertain 
them  at  meals.  It  will  not  only  save  you  a  fearful  hotel 
bill  but  keep  them  from  wandering  into  the  wrong  fold/' 

"Good  idea!"    Gregory's  voice  was  more  animated. 

"I'll  get  Professor  Becke  to  take  them  down  into  one 
of  the  big  mines  here,  take  them  out  myself  to  yours,  amuse 
them  between  times  with  the  prettiest  women  in  town — 
in  short  stick  to  them  closer  than  a  brother." 

"Good!  You  are  the  right  sort.  I'll  meet  them  at  the 
train — on  the  night  of  the  second,  it  is — and  take  them 
right  up  to  your  house.  It's  putting  you  to  .a  lot " 

"Not  a  bit.    It  will  be  immense  fun.    Good-bye." 

On  that  same  morning  Ora  went  to  Butte.  She  had 
telephoned  to  Ida,  and  Mowbray  met  her  at  the  train  with 
the  limousine. 

"Mrs.  Compton  had  to  go  to  some  charity  meeting  or 
other,"  he  said,  as  they  shook  hands  warmly.  "I  am  to 
drive  you  about  for  an  hour." 

This  was  better  fortune  than  Ora,  who  possessed  little  of 
Ida's  patience  and  talent  for  the  waiting  game,  had  dared 
to  anticipate. 

"How  jolly!"  Her  face  lost  its  traces  of  a  sleepless 
night  as  it  flashed  with  hope  and  enthusiasm.  "And  after 
that  dreadful  train!  Drive  to  the  Gardens/'*  she  said  to 
the  chauffeur. 

She  pointed  out  Anaconda  Hill  as  they  passed  under 
that  famous  portal,  and  the  shaft  houses  of  other  mines, 

310 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     311 

suggesting  that  he  go  down  with  the  geologists  when  they 
made  the  inevitable  descent.  "But  you  will  find  your 
visit  to  Mr.  Compton  's  mine  more  satisfactory, ' '  she  added 
lightly.  ' '  You  will  see  more  ore  in  the  vein.  How  do  you 
like  him?" 

Mowbray  growled  something  in  his  thick  inarticulate 
English  voice,  and  Ora  grasped  her  opportunity.  She 
turned  to  him  with  the  uncompromising  directness  her 
sinuous  mind  knew  so  well  how  to  assume. 

"Take  me  into  your  confidence,"  she  said  peremptorily. 
"I  can  help  you.  At  all  events  keep  you  from  making 
any  mistakes  with  Ida.  She  is  what  is  called  a  difficult 
proposition.  Are  you  in  love  with  her?" 

Mowbray  turned  a  deep  brick-red  and  frowned,  but  he 
answered  intelligibly:  "You  know  jolly  well  I  am." 

"Then  let  me  tell  you  that  there  is  only  one  way  you 
can  get  her.  Ida  is  moral  to  the  marrow  of  her  bones. 
You  might  make  her  love  you,  for  she  and  her  husband 
are  practically  separated,  but  you  can  get  her  only  by 
persuading  her  to  divorce  Mr.  Compton." 

"I've  thought  of  that.  Of  course  I'd  rather  marry  her. 
I  'm  a  decent  sort  myself — hate  skulking — and  lying — she 's 
the  last  woman  I'd  want  to  compromise.  But  I'm  so 
beastly  poor.  I've  only  twelve  hundred  pounds  a  year." 

"And  she  has  forty  thousand  pounds  now  of  her  own. 
You  need  not  hesitate  to  spend  the  capital,  for  Mr.  Comp 
ton  is  most  generous,  and  is  sure  to  give  her  much  more. 
He  is  bound  to  be  a  multimillionaire — it  is  only  a  question 
of  a  few  years." 

"Does  he  want  his  own  freedom?" 

"I  am  not  in  his  confidence.  But  as  they  no  longer 
care  for  each  other  and  have  agreed  to  live  apart — merely 
showing  themselves  together  in  public  occasionally  to  avoid 
gossip — it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  he  would  be  indiffer 
ent,  at  least.  He  cannot  be  more  than  thirty,  and  will 
be  sure  to  want  his  freedom  sooner  or  later." 

"This  is  splendid  of  you!"  cried  the  Englishman  grate 
fully.  "She's  not  happy.  I  know  that,  and  now  I  shall 
know  just  what  to  do." 

' i  Sympathise  with  her.  Make  yourself  necessary — make 
her  feel  the  neglected  wife,  and  what  a  devoted  husband 
would  mean.  You  have  the  game  in  your  own  hands,  and 
I  will  help  you. ' ' 


XVI 

discerned  certain  changes  in  Ida  as  the  three  re 
united  friends,  with  so  many  pleasant  memories  in 
common,  talked  gaily  at  luncheon.  It  was  not  only  that 
she  was  a  trifle  thinner  but  there  were  shadows  in  her 
eyes  that  gave  them  troubled  depths.  The  curves  of  her 
mouth  also  were  less  assured,  and  her  strong,  rather  large, 
but  beautiful  hands  had  a  restless  movement.  Ora,  whose 
imagination  was  always  ready  to  spring  from  the  leash 
and  visualise  a  desired  conclusion,  pictured  Ida,  if  not 
already  in  love  with  this  good-looking  and  delightful  Eng 
lishman,  as  circling  close;  neglected  and  mortified,  she 
longed  for  the  opportunity  to  live  her  life  with  him;  in 
short  was  champing  the  bit. 

Ora  led  the  conversation — no  great  adroitness  was  neces 
sary — to  the  many  divorces  pending  in  Butte  at  the  mo 
ment.  Ida  sniffed.  Ora  asserted  gaily  that  they  were 
merely  a  casual  result  of  an  era  of  universal  progress  and 
individualism;  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  modern  life 
that  hardly  called  for  comment.  "You  are  so  up  to  date 
in  everything  else,  my  dear,"  she  concluded,  "that  I  won 
der  you  cling  to  such  old  middle-class  prejudices." 

"I  guess  there  are  a  few  conservatives  and  brakes  left 
in  this  country,"  said  Ida,  drily.  "I  may  look  back  with 
horror  at  the  time  when  I  chewed  gum  and  walked  out  of 
a  restaurant  with  a  toothpick  in  my  mouth,  but  Ma  ham 
mered  most  of  my  good  old-fashioned  prejudices  into  my 
back  with  the  broom-handle,  and  I'm  no  more  likely  to 
forget  her  opinion  of  divorce — the  poor  get  it  sometimes 
as  well  as  the  rich — than  the  bastings  L  got  if  I  played 
hookey  from  school,  or  sneaked  out  after  dark  alone  with 
a  beau." 

"My  mother  was  exactly  the  same,"  said  Ora,  with  that 
charming  spontaneity  which  so  often  robbed  her  words 
of  the  subtle  insult  of  condescension,  or  the  more  cryptic 
of  irony.  "If  I  hadn't  happened  to  be  a  book- worm  and 

312 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     313 

had  indulged  in  clandestine  love  affairs  I  should  have  been 
shut  up  on  bread  and  water.  And  she  had  all  a  Southern 
woman's  horror  of  divorce.  But,  dear  Ida!  That  was 
in  the  dark  ages.  We  live  in  the  most  enlightened  and 
individualistic  era  of  the  world's  history.  I  have  kept  my 
eyes  and  ears  open  ever  since.  Nor  do  I  believe  for  a 
moment  that  we  are  getting  any  worse — we  merely  have 
achieved  a  more  well-bred  indifference  toward  other  peo 
ple's  affairs.  One  can  hear  a  scandal  a  minute  in  large 
towns  and  small,  if  one  has  nothing  better  to  do  than 
listen;  but  whereas  in  our  mothers'  time  a  woman  was 
dropped  if  she  was  'talked  about,7  today  we  don't  turn  a 
hair  at  anything  short  of  a  quite  superlative  divorce  court 
scandal — not  even  about  girls;  always  provided  that  they 
continue  to  dress  well,  and  keep  on  being  charming  and 
spending  money." 

' '  That  is  about  the  most  cynical  thing  I  ever  heard  you 
say." 

"The  truth  always  sounds  cynical.  You  laugh  at  me 
for  dreaming  and  being  an  idealist,  but  I  never  have  shut 
my  mind  to  facts  as  you  do." 

"I  don't  even  blink  the  old  facts.  I  don't  like  them, 
that's  all.  I  don't  say,  of  course,  that  if  I  were  married 
to  a  brute  who  came  home  drunk  and  beat  me — but  this 
swapping  husbands  like  horses — well,  I'm  content  to  be  a 
brake  as  long  as  there's  any  wheel  to  freeze  to.  You  know 
I  'm  not  hitting  at  you, ' '  she  added  hastily.  "  I  'd  give  you 
the  moon  if  you  wanted  it;  but  I  put  you  in  a  class  by 
yourself,  that's  all." 

"Oh,"  cried  Ora,  laughing.  "Let  us  change  the  sub 
ject  before  you  prove  that  your  logic  turns  feminine  at 
the  crucial  test.  Heavens!  How  hideous  Butte  is.  We 
drove " 

"Hideous?    Butte?"  demanded  Ida  indignantly. 

"Oh,  you  see  it  through  the  glamour  of  a  triumphal 
progress.  Wait  until  the  novelty  has  worn  off.  How  do 
you  find  it?"  she  asked  Mowbray,  who  had  relished  his 
excellent  luncheon  and  admired  his  ally's  tactics. 

"Eippin'  air.  Nearly  took  a  header  out  of  the  window 
this  mornin'  thinkin'  I  had  wings.  But  as  for  looks — 
those  mountains  in  the  distance  are  not  half-bad,  but  the 
foreground  is  —  er  —  a  little  ragged  —  and  —  new  —  you 
know."  He  smiled  into  Ida's  warning  eyes.  "Really, 


314     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

dear  lady,  I  can  understand  that  you  were  keen  on  gettin  * 
home  again,  because  home  is  home,  don't  you  know.  But 
beauty — tell  me  just  where  you  do  find  it." 

Ida  tossed  her  head.  "Beauty  is  in  the  eye  of  the 
beholder,  and  mine  beholds  it.  That  is  enough  for  me. 
Now,  run  along  to  the  Club.  I  haven't  seen  Ora  for  ages. 
You  may  come  back  for  tea." 

She  led  the  way  up  to  her  bedroom  and  they  made  them 
selves  comfortable  and  lit  their  cigarettes. 

"Odd  as  it  would  seem,"  said  Ida,  "to  those  east  and 
west  of  us  who  have  an  idea  that  Butte  has  been  on  one 
prolonged  spree  since  she  was  really  a  camp,  I  have  to 
enjoy  my  occasional  cigarette  on  the  sly.  A  few  of  the 
younger  women  smoke,  when  they  have  locked  the  doors 
and  pulled  the  blinds  down — and  of  course  The  Bunch 
does;  but  the  majority — and  those  that  never  bat  an  eye 
lash  at  cocktails  and  champagne — think  it  indecent  for  a 
woman  to  smoke.  Funny  world." 

"Butte  is  a  provincial  hole.  As  there  are  no  strangers 
present  you  needn't  bother  to  defend  it.  I've  just  had  a 
brilliant  idea.  Why  don't  you  divorce  Mr.  Compton  and 
marry  Mowbray?" 

"Aw!"  Ida  dropped  her  cigarette  and  burned  a  hole 
in  her  skirt.  "Are  you  raving  crazy?" 

"I  thought  I  was  advancing  a  peculiarly  level-headed 
suggestion ' ' 

"None  of  it  in  mine!" 

"But,  my  dear  Ida,  you  will  tire  inevitably  of  this  old 
camp.  The  glamour  of  all  this  return  in  a  gilded  chariot 
drawn  by  the  cheering  populace  will  wear  off  in  about  six 
months.  So  will  your  own  novelty  for  them.  It  is  all 
indescribably  cheap,  anyhow.  If  you  send  Mowbray  away 
now,  he  will  try  to  forget  you,  and  forgetting  is  man's 
peculiar  accomplishment.  You  will  have  missed  a  great 
opportunity.  You  and  Mr.  Compton  are  manifestly  in 
different  to  each  other.  Seize  your  chance,  dear — not  only 
for  happiness,  but  for  a  splendid  social  position,  before 

Ora  paused.  Ida  was  glaring  ahead  of  her  with  her 
heavy  black  brows  pushed  low  over  her  flaming  eyes.  Her 
lips  were  drawn  back  over  her  sharp  little  teeth.  Her 
nostrils  were  distended.  She  looked  like  some  magnificent 
beast  of  the  jungle  stalking  her  prey. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     315 

' '  By  God ! ' '  she  whispered,  her  whole  body  heaving, 
' '  I  '11  have  him  back.  I  was  a  fool  before  I  left,  and  maybe 
I  shouldn't  have  left  him  at  all.  It's  never  safe  to  leave 
a  man.  But  when  I  do  get  him  back  he'll  be  glad  of  all 
I've  learned.  He's  like  a  lunatic  with  a  fixed  idea  just 
now — but  wait." 

Ora  felt  cold  and  numb.  She  tried  to  rise,  and  wondered 
if  the  shock  had  paralysed  her.  She  managed  to  articu 
late:  "You  love  him  then?" 

But  not  even  to  Ora  could  Ida  make  any  such  admis 
sion;  she  who  always  had  flouted  both  sentiment  and  pas 
sion!  She  recovered  herself  and  tossed  her  head. 

"Love!  Who  cares  about  love?  Do  you  think  I'm  the 
sort  of  woman  a  man  can  throw  down  for  a  mine?  I 
wouldn't  stand  it  even  it  were  another  woman — but  ore! 
It  makes  me  sick.  I  won't  be  thrown  down.  And  I'll  get 
him  back!" 

Ora  too  had  recovered  herself.  She  lit  another  cigar 
ette.  "I'm  so  glad  you  don't  care,  dear.  No  man  is  worth 
agonising  over,  as  you  so  often  have  said  yourself.  For 
give  the  doubt.  I  should  have  remembered  that  you  were 
far  too  clever  and  worldly-wise  for  that  sort  of  thing. 
That  is  the  main  reason  that  I  am  willing  to  marry  Val- 
dobia:  I  can  be  fond  of  him,  like  him  always,  be  grateful 
for  his  companionship,  but  he  can't  tear  my  heart  out." 

"I  thought  you  told  me  when  you  came  back  that  you 
were  mad  about  him?" 

"Oh,  I  fancy  I  was  strung  up  that  day.  When  I  am 
excited  I  always  exaggerate.  But  do  think  over  what  I 
have  said  about  Mowbray.  And  it  would  be  heavenly  to 
have  you  in  Europe." 

"My  mind's  made  up.  I  guess  I'm  American  to  my  core 
and  marrow.  Titles  will  never  seem  natural  to  me,  and 
I  guess  we'll  both  live  to  see  them  so  tangled  up  with 
democracy  that  those  that  are  left  will  look  like  old  labels 
on  new  cans.  No  has-beens  in  mine.  Oh,  chuck  it !  What's 
this  I  hear  about  little  Whalen — that  he's  resigned  from 
the  High  and  been  out  in  the  mountains  prospecting  since 
the  beginning  of  Spring?  I've  only  seen  him  once  since  I 
came  back  and  then  he  looked  like  a  viper  that  had  been 
stepped  on." 

"I  met  him  the  other  day  when  I  was  out  walking.  He 
bought  a  claim  of  one  of  the  prospectors  that  swarmed  out 


316    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

there  as  soon  as  they  heard  of  the  Primo  and  the  Perch 
strikes.  He  wore  overalls  and  a  beard.  I  scarcely  knew 
him.  He  talked  rather  wildly  about  the  hill  he  has  located 
on  being  another  Perch  of  the  Devil." 

"I  guess  Gregory  is  responsible  for  that  and  a  good 
many  other  wild  dreams.  I  hear  that  a  lot  of  young  men 
are  coming  out  from  the  East  this  Summer  to  prospect  in 
those  hills.  Well,  they'll  succeed  or  fail  according  to  their 
luck  mostly.  Let's  go  out.  You've  got  two  hours  before 
your  train  goes — but  if  you've  got  a  list  a  yard  long " 

And  the  two  sallied  forth  in  perfect  peace  to  shop. 


O 


XVII 

RA  had  more  than  one  cause  for  uneasiness  when  she 
returned  to  her  little  home  in  the  pine  woods,  but 
paramount  was  the  fear  that  she  should  not  see  Gregory 
Compton  again  unless  by  accident.  She  rose  early  after 
another  almost  sleepless  night  and  spent  a  distracted  day 
wandering  over  the  hills,  returning  at  intervals  to  inquire 
if  her  telephone  bell  had  rung.  Once  more  she  felt  a  dis 
position  to  run  away,  anathematising  the  slavery  of  love. 
Only  the  hope  that  Mowbray  would  wear  down  Ida's 
resistance  kept  her  from  yielding  to  the  impatient,  im 
aginative,  too  highly  organised  woman's  impulse  to  flee 
when  love  seems  hopeless  and  a  nervous  explosion  immi 
nent.  She  still  refused  to  feel  traitorous  to  Ida,  but  she 
did  wonder  once  or  twice  if  she  ever  should  dare  to  face 
her  as  Mrs.  Gregory  Compton.  Ida  was  the  reverse  of  a 
fool.  She  might  be  blind  now,  for  obvious  reasons — but 
Ora  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  the  vision  of  Ida's  horror 
and  wrath.  What  did  she  care  for  Ida  or  any  other 
woman  if  she  got  her  man? 

She  made  one  of  her  sudden  dashes  into  the  house 
as  the  telephone  bell  was  ringing.  For  the  moment  she 
thought  she  was  about  to  faint;  then,  both  appalled  and 
angry  at  the  lawless  behaviour  of  her  nerves,  she  stamped 
her  foot,  shook  herself,  marched  over  to  the  telephone,  took 
down  the  receiver,  and  asked  in  a  bored  voice:  "Well?" 

"I  shall  come  to  supper  tonight  if  you  will  have  me?" 
Gregory's  tones  were  those  he  employed  when  "canning" 
a  miner. 

"Delighted."  Ora's  nerves  fell  into  place  like  good 
little  soldiers.  "Will  you  be  here  at  seven?" 

* '  About.  I  prefer  to  have  you  tell  me  here  what  she  had 
to  say." 

"Constitutionally  opposed  at  present,  but  that  was  to 
be  expected.  Seeds  always  sprout  if  well  planted  and 
judiciously  watered.  Our  friend  from  England  will  do 
his  part." 

317 


318    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Good.  We'll  say  no  more  about  it.  But  I  shall  go  to 
see  you  as  usual." 

"Why  not?  We  are  not  fools  or  children.  Any  new 
developments  at  the  mine?" 

' '  Shaft  has  reached  third  level.  Vein  seems  to  he  ahout 
the  same  richness  as  on  the  second.  Mann  is  here.  Good 
bye." 

As  Ora,  her  body  no  longer  braced  and  rigid,  but  so  filled 
with  the  languor  of  happiness  that  she  wanted  to  throw 
herself  down  on  the  divan  and  sleep,  crossed  the  room, 
she  became  aware  that  some  one  was  standing  in  the  outer 
doorway.  His  hat  was  in  his  hand,  and  as  she  focussed  her 
absent  gaze  she  managed  to  recognise  Professor  Whalen. 
Her  impulse  was  to  turn  her  back  and  run  into  her  bed 
room;  but  Ora  was  always  a  great  lady.  She  could  be 
extremely  rude  to  a  member  of  her  own  class,  but  she  had 
never  permitted  herself  to  wound  the  morbid  sensitiveness 
of  those  to  whom  fortune  had  been  less  kind.  So,  secretly 
wondering  if  the  little  man  really  stood  there,  or  if  any 
thing  so  insignificant  mattered,  she  went  forward  smiling 
and  offered  him  her  hand. 

"So  good  of  you  to  come  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with 
me."  She  rang  a  bell  and  ordered  tea  of  her  Chinaman. 
"But  why  did  you  dress  up?  I  am  accustomed  to  overalls 
and  flannel  shirts,  and  quite  like  the  idea  of  living  in  a 
mining  camp." 

Whalen  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  chair  and  stared  into  the 
fire,  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hands.  "I  guess  I've  got  to  be 
a  gentleman  again,"  he  said  with  a  short  laugh.  "There's 
nothing  else  left  for  me  to  be." 

"Oh!     I  hope " 

"My  find. — and  I  paid  a  thousand  dollars  for  the  claim 
— was  nothing  but  a  gash  vein.  Nothing  in  that  but  low 
grade  carbonates." 

1 '  But  are  you  so  sure  ?  Often  veins  appears  to  pinch  out 
a  hundred  feet  or  more  above  a  really  rich  lode." 

"I've  poured  into  that  hole  all  my  savings;  all  I  had 
saved  from  my  salary  during  four  years,  and  every  cent 
of  my  reward  in  the  field  of  letters.  I  even — and  against 
my  secret  resolutions — consumed  a  legacy  left  me  by  an 
uncle. ' ' 

"Perhaps  if  you  would  ask  Mr.  Compton  to  look  at 
your  claim — he  is  a  sort  of  ore  wizard " 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     319 

"I'll  ask  no  favours  of  Gregory  Compton!"  Whalen 
burst  out,  violently.  "Were  it  not  for  him  I  never  would 
have  been  enticed  into  this  foolish  venture.  I  cannot 
realise  it — I,  who  was  brought  up  in  the  most  conservative 
corner  of  this  conservative  country — I,  a  pedagogue,  a  man 
of  letters,  that  I  should  have  so  far  descended  as  to  be 
come  a  prospector — live  in  a  hut,  cook  my  own  bacon, 
dig  with  a  pick "  He  paused  choking. 

"Doubtless  you  remembered  that  some  of  the  greatest 
millionaires  in  the  country  began  that  way.  Or  possibly 
the  Northwest  kindled  your  sense  of  adventure — that  is 
inherent  in  every  real  man.  But  why  blame  Mr.  Comp 
ton?" 

Whalen  had  recovered  his  breath.  He  spat  out  his 
words.  "Why  should  a  man  like  that  have  all  the  luck? 
And  such  colossal  luck!  Who  is  he?  What  is  he?  In 
what  way  does  he  compare  with  me — a  man  of  no  family, 
of  no  culture,  of  no  intellect " 

' '  Mr.  Compton  has  given  evidence  that  he  has  one  of  the 
best  brains  this  country  has  produced."  Ora  spoke  evenly 
but  with  a  glint  in  her  eye. 

' '  Oh,  yes,  brains!  I  make  a  fine  distinction  between  mere 
brains  and  intellect.  He  has  the  sort  of  mental  composition 
those  men  always  seem  to  have  in  order  that  they  may 
make  use  of  their  luck  and  roll  up  millions.  But  intel 
lect?  Not  a  cell.  He  has  never  read  anything.  I  jour 
neyed  with  him  from  Pony  to  Butte  not  long  since  and 
endeavoured  to  engage  him  in  conversation.  I  might  as 
well  have  tried  to  talk  to  a  mummy — and  an  ill-mannered 
one  at  that.  The  moment  I  left  the  subject  of  mines  he 
merely  looked  out  of  the  window." 

Ora  laughed  merrily,  and  poured  out  the  tea  the  China 
man  had  brought  in.  "Perhaps  it  is  just  that  lack  of 
overdevelopment  that  we  call  intellect  which  permits  these 
men  to  concentrate  upon  their  genius  for  making  money." 

"But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  their  luck  in  the 
beginning.  Luck!  Blind  luck!  Fool's  luck!  And  why 
not  to  me?  Why  to  this  Gregory  Compton?  I  never  be 
lieved  in  luck  before,  but  since  this  rush,  and  my  own  per 
sonal  experience "  He  swallowed  a  mouthful  of  tea 

too  hastily,  scalded  himself,  and,  while  he  was  gasping,  Ora 
said  soothingly: 

"You  cannot  help  believing  in  luck  if  you  study  the 


320    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

early  history  of  any  mining  state.  There  are  hundreds 
of  stories  of  prospectors— you  have  told  of  many  yourself; 
the  majority  had  little  or  no  education,  less  science.  Out 
of  a  hundred  evenly  equipped  with  grit,  common  sense 
some  practical  knowledge  of  ores,  perhaps  two  would  find 
a  rich  pocket  or  placer.  Four  or  five  possibly  made  a 
strike  that  would  insure  them  a  competence  if  they  neither 
gambled  nor  drank.  The  rest  nothing— not  after  forty 
years  of  prospecting  in  these  mountains.  I  fancy  there 
is  something  in  that  old  phrase  about  the  lucky  star-  in 
astronomical  parlance  the  position  of  the  planets  at  the  mo 
ment  of  one's  birth." 

"But  why  not  I?"  wailed  the  professor.     " Why— why 
this— well,  he  is  a  friend  of  yours—  Gregory  Compton?" 
"Why  not?" 

"I  am  infinitely  his  superior  in  every  way!"  cried 
Whalen  in  perfect  good  faith.  "It  is  I  who  should  have  dis 
covered  those  millions  and  taken  them  to  Beacon  Street, 
not  this  obscure  young  Westerner,  son  of  an  illiterate  old 

ranchman ' ' 

"But  you  didn't,"  said  Ora,  patiently.  "Besides,  the 
fates  are  not  unjust.  They  made  you  a  member  of  the 
New  England  aristocracy,  and  gave  you  intellect.  Do  not 
be  unreasonable  and  demand  the  mere  prospector's  luck  as 
well. ' ' 

Whalen  looked  at  her  suspiciously,  but  her  eyes  were 
teasing,  not  satiric.  He  had  admired  her  always  more  than 
any  woman  he  had  met  in  the  West,  and  had  come  to  her 
blindly  to  be  consoled.  Suddenly  he  saw  an  indefinable 
change  steal  over  her  face,  although  her  mouth  remained 
curled  with  the  stereotyped  smile  she  kept  for  the  Wha- 
lens.  It  was  as  if  something  deep  in  her  brilliant  eyes 
came  to  life,  and  her  slight  bust  rose  under  the  stiff  shirt 
waist.  Whalen 's  ears  were  not  acute  and  he  did  not  hear 
the  light  footstep  that  preceded  a  peremptory  knock.  Ora 
crossed  the  room  swiftly  and  opened  the  door.  Whalen 
was  no  fool,  and  he  had  written  fiction  for  four  years. 
He  had  guessed  at  once  that  his  beautiful  hostess  loved  the 
man  who  demanded  admittance,  and  when  he  heard  Greg 
ory  Compton's  voice  he  almost  whistled.  But  he  merely 
arose  and  frowned. 

"Knocked  off  and  thought  I  would  run  in  early,"  Greg 
ory  was  beginning,  when  he  saw  Whalen.    ' '  How  are  you  1 ' ' 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     321 

he  asked  with  more  cordiality  than  he  usually  wasted  upon 
the  little  man.  His  spirits  always  flew  to  his  head  when 
he  met  Ora,  stolid  as  he  might  look.  " How's  your  mine 
getting  on?"  he  added,  as  he  selected  the  longest  of  the 
chairs  before  the  fire.  " Heard  it  had  petered  out/' 

"It  has!" 

1 '  1 11  go  over  and  have  a  look  at  it  tomorrow  if  you  like. 
I  fancy  you're  located  too  close  to  one  of  the  faults.  The 
trouble  with  you  amateur  prospectors — or  buyers  of  pros 
pectors'  claims — is  that  you  don't  take  a  geologist  out 
with  you.  You  lose  your  heads  over  an  assay  report 
on  exceptional  specimens.  But  I'd  like  to  see  for  my 
self." 

"It's  no  use,"  said  Whalen  gloomily.  'I  have  used  up 

all  my  money  in  that "  He  had  learned  to  swear  in 

mining  camp  society,  but  he  pulled  himself  up  hastily, 
"that  hole." 

"If  I  think  there  is  anything  there  I'll  grub-stake  you. 
Nobody  would  buy  your  claim,  but  somebody  might  jump 
it  if  you  let  it  lapse,  and  I  want  to  know  who  my  neigh 
bours  are.  Have  you  patented  it?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Spent  five  hundred  dollars  on  it?" 

"Have  I!" 

"Well,  I'll  look  at  it  tomorrow,  and  if  I  think  it's  good 
for  anything  I'll  help  you  out.  I  am  going  to  Helena  in 
a  day  or  two.  Come  along  and  apply  for  your  patent." 

"You  are  very  kind."  Whalen  felt  repentant,  and 
more  grateful  than  he  had  ever  condescended  to  feel  be 
fore.  "I'll  expect  you  tomorrow."  He  inferred  that  he 
could  best  show  his  gratitude  by  taking  himself  off,  and 
rose.  "Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Blake.  This  hour  has  been 
refreshing  and  inspiring  after  my  long  absence  from 
civilisation. ' ' 

"You  must  come  soon  again,"  said  Ora  sweetly,  as  she 
marshalled  him  out.  "The  best  of  luck." 

She  went  to  her  bedroom  for  a  few  moments,  and  when 
she  returned  wore  a  soft  tea  gown  made  of  several  shades 
of  woodland  greens.  She  seated  herself  in  her  favourite 
chair,  straight,  with  a  high  carved  back,  and  took  up  her 
neglected  embroidery.  "Dinner  will  not  be  ready  for 
half  an  hour,"  she  said.  "How  long  that  little  man  did 
stay.  I  am  glad  you  made  a  friend  of  him,  for  I  have 


322     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

always  imagined  that  he  could  be  venomous,  and  before 
you  came  in  he  was  by  way  of  hating  you.    Now  tell  me 
the  surprise  you  have  for  the  geologists  and  newspaper  men 
on  the  second  level." 
And  for  the  next  three  hours  they  talked  of  ores. 


XVIII 

IVE  me  your  hand,  Gregory.  I  am  no  coward,  but 
this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  been  underground. 
My  father  would  never  permit  it,  nor  my  mother  after 
him." 

Gregory  extended  his  long  arm  behind  him  and  Ida's 
warm  firm  fingers  clung  to  his  hand.  They  had  just  left 
the  skip  at  the  second  level  of  his  mine.  The  geologists 
and  the  newspaper  men,  together  with  herself,  Lord  John, 
Gregory,  and  Mann,  had  entered  the  mine  by  way  of  the 
Primo  shaft,  inspected  the  insignificant  vein  of  copper 
which  had  merely  been  blocked  out,  awaiting  the  possible 
erection  of  a  concentrating  plant — for  it  was  not  worth  the 
expense  of  freight  to  Anaconda — thence  down  the  ladder 
from  the  hole  blasted  by  Apex,  and  into  the  drift  where 
the  magnificent  vein  of  Perch  of  the  Devil  also  merely  had 
been  blocked  out;  but  for  a  more  subtle  reason.  The 
case  in  Gregory 's  favour  was  so  flagrant  that  the  great  men 
had  laughed,  although  gracefully  submitting  to  interviews 
on  the  spot  and  expressing  themselves  with  as  few  techni 
calities  as  possible.  That  the  Primo  copper  upon  which 
Apex  had  also  sunk  was  a  mere  attenuated  fork  of  the 
great  vein  which  indisputably  had  faulted  from  the  origi 
nal  vein  in  Gregory  Compton's  property  the  reporters 
could  see  for  themselves.  Under  the  Apex  law  Gregory 
was  within  his  lateral  rights  in  sinking  under  tjie  ad 
joining  claim  and  thence  under  the  Primo  mine;  and  as 
far  beyond  as  the  vein  persisted. 

Against  a  man  less  determined  and  resourceful  than 
Gregory  Compton  a  wealthy  corporation  could  obtain  any 
verdict  it  demanded ;  but  to  persist  in  a  suit  for  Apex  rights 
after  this  public  exposition  would  make  any  trust  the 
laughing-stock  of  a  continent.  Even  to  persist  in  the  claim 
that  he  was  mining  under  an  agricultural  patent,  and 
therefore  outside  his  rights,  would  be  mere  petty  persecu 
tion  j  and  inevitably  both  suits  would  steal  noiselessly 

323 


324     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

to  limbo.  Amalgamated  knew  when  it  was  beaten  and 
would  take  its  medicine  with  a  grimace  and  watch  for  its 
next  opportunity. 

Ida,  although  she  disliked  the  sensation  of  being  under 
ground,  the  chill  of  the  tunnels  and  the  drip  of  candle- 
grease  on  her  smart  linen  skirt,  had  been  deeply  impressed 
by  the  scene  in  the  excavation  on  the  Perch  vein :  the  men 
with  their  keen  upturned  faces,  their  peering  eyes  so 
close  to  the  moving  candles,  the  little  yellow  flames  travel 
ling  along  the  beautiful  yellow  metal,  the  eager  nervous 
hands  of  the  newspaper  men,  the  intense  blackness  beyond 
the  radius  of  the  candles.  But  her  eyes  returned  con 
stantly  to  her  husband's  face.  His  eyes  gleamed  with 
copper  fires.  His  profile  against  the  dark  background  of 
the  cavern  looked  as  if  carved  in  the  rock  by  some  pre 
historic  race. 

The  blood  scorched  her  face  and  her  heart  leapt  with 
pride  as  she  heard  these  distinguished  men  defer  to  him, 
express  their  admiration  without  reserve.  A  year  ago  he 
had  been  as  little  known  as  when  she  married  him.  To 
day  his  extraordinary  abilities  were  recognised  by  the  en 
tire  country,  and  tomorrow  he  would  be  one  of  its  colossi. 

She  was  the  only  woman  that  had  gone  down.  Mrs. 
Cameron  and  Mrs.  Collier  had  preferred  to  remain  com 
fortably  with  Ora  in  the  bungalow,  or  to  help  her  spread 
the  tables  under  the  pines,  where  luncheon  was  to  be 
served.  Therefore  was  she  privileged  to  keep  close  to 
the  host,  and  when  they  descended  into  the  blackness  of 
the  second  level  she  embraced  further  her  feminine  pre 
rogatives.  Mann  had  gone  down  first,  the  guests  had  fol 
lowed,  and  Gregory,  after  a  vain  protest,  had  taken  her 
down  in  the  skip  when  it  returned  for  himself. 

The  rest  of  the  party  had  pushed  forward,  for  they  had 
been  promised  a  surprise.  Ida  would  have  lingered,  but 
Gregory  pulled  her  on.  He  wanted  to  hear  the  com 
ments.  The  racket  of  the  drills  had  stopped.  Ida  saw  the 
last  of  the  guests  disappear  up  a  short  ladder. 
'Am  I  to  go  up  into  a  stope?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  want  to  see  what  we've  come  for."  He  ran  up 
the  ladder,  and  she  followed,  insinuated  herself  into  the 
hole  and  stood  upright  in  the  large  excavation  on  the 
vein. 

"Is  it  gold?"  she  gasped. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     325 

"No,  but  it's  a  streak — a  shoot — of  chalcopyrite  ten 
feet  wide  and  of  the  highest  value.  And  it  may  go  down 
eight  or  nine  hundred  feet  before  it  loses  its  richness  and 
degenerates  into  a  lower  grade  of  ore.  But  there  may  be 
millions  of  tons  of  that.  This  is  one  of  the  few  great 
shoots  of  chalcopyrite  known." 

"Gregory!"  said  Ida  ecstatically,  "do  you  remember 
I  always  had  such  faith  in  you  that  I  urged  you  so  often 
to  prospect  on  the  ranch  that  you  got  quite  cross  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I  remember." 

"Never  say  I  doubted  you.  I  may  be  enchanted  at  all 
this  success  and  recognition  of  your  abilities,  but  I  have 
never  had  the  least  sensation  of  surprise." 

Gregory  smiled  down  into  the  eager  beautiful  face  so 
close  to  his  shoulder.  She  had  manipulated  him  down  the 
ladder  into  the  tunnel  and  for  the  moment  they  were  alone. 
"I  hope  you  are  half  as  proud  of  me  as  I  am  of  you,"  he 
said  gallantly,  although  he  was  a  trifle  uneasy ;  not  because 
she  looked  as  if  she  might  kiss  him  there  in  the  semi-dark, 
but  because  he  felt  an  impulse  to  kiss  her.  For  the  mo 
ment  he  regretted  the  wild  romance  upon  which  he  was 
embarked,  the  torments  of  its  present,  the  tragic  possibili 
ties  of  its  future.  Ida  now  would  make  an  ideal  wife,  de 
manding  far  less  of  his  jealously  guarded  inner  self,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  time,  than  Ora,  who  had  that  most 
terrible  of  all  gifts,  a  passionate  soul.  But  this  disloyalty 
was  brief,  and  he  frowned  and  disengaged  his  hand,  al 
though  he  was  far  from  suspecting  that  Ida  had  yielded  to 
the  temptation  to  pay  him  deliberate  court. 

"I  shall  be  able  to  give  you  a  string  of  pearls  before 
long,"  he  said  lightly,  "or  a  million  or  two  to  play  with. 
I  want  to  hear  what  these  men  have  to  say.  Suppose  you 
go  back  with  Lord  John,  and  tell  them  that  we  are  coming 
up  soon  for  lunch.  Ring  the  bell  in  the  station  twice  for 
the  skip  and  three  times  for  hoist." 

Ida  shrank  back  against  the  wall  as  if  she  had  been 
struck,  but  when  Lord  John,  who  had  made  several  futile 
attempts  to  separate  her  from  her  husband,  came  eagerly 
forward,  she  left  Gregory  to  the  chorus  of  enthusiasm  and 
congratulation,  and  obeyed  his  directions. 


XIX 

IDA  was  in  such  high  spirits  during  the  luncheon  that 
*  she  managed  to  be  brilliant  and  amusing  within  the 
limits  of  her  expurgated  vocabulary.  Only  Ora,  who  knew 
her  so  well,  saw  the  sombre  fire  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes, 
the  sudden  twist  of  her  mouth  at  the  corners,  noted  that 
her  cheeks  were  crimson  instead  of  their  usual  delicate 
coral,  the  occasional  clenching  of  her  hands.  But  she  had 
little  time  to  speculate  upon  the  cause,  for  the  large  party 
were  her  guests,  and,  like  any  other  Rocky  Mountain 
hostess  in  the  liquid  month  of  June,  she  feared  the  sudden 
drenching  of  her  tables. 

But  the  day  remained  fine,  and  the  geologists,  who  ever 
since  their  arrival  in  Butte  had  evinced  a  remarkable  in 
difference  to  geology  as  a  topic  for  conversation,  were  as 
lively  as  the  newspaper  men,  and  deeply  appreciative  of 
the  good  looks  and  animated  conversation  of  the  four 
women  who  ate  almost  nothing  in  their  efforts  at  mental 
subdivision.  Ora  had  invited  also  her  engineer  and  Pro 
fessor  Whalen,  placing  the  latter  as  far  from  Ida  as  pos 
sible;  but  she  saw  that  he  was  covertly  watching  the 
woman  he  must  hate.  Ida  had  thrown  him  a  careless  nod 
when  they  met  by  the  tables  in  the  grove;  and  he  had  re 
turned  it  with  a  bow  of  surpassing  dignity. 

Gregory,  now  that  the  men  of  science  and  of  the  press 
had  served  his  purpose,  was  eager  to  be  rid  of  them,  and 
excused  himself  when  the  luncheon  was  half  over,  on  the 
plea  that  he  was  his  own  manager  and  needed  at  the  mine. 
He  disappeared  into  the  Primo  shaft  house,  as  he  often 
took  that  short  cut  to  his  own  shaft,  and  Mowbray,  who 
had  been  silent,  for  Gregory  affected  his  buoyant  spirits 
unaccountably,  moved  his  chair  up  beside  Ida  and  en 
deavoured  to  divert  her  mind  from  the  general  to  the 
specific.  But  she  snubbed  him  and  he  relapsed  into  gloom. 
On  the  train,  however,  when  she  saw  that  Whalen,  who 
was  on  his  way  to  Helena  to  apply  for  his  patent,  was 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     327 

watching  her,  she  flirted  pointedly  with  the  handsome 
Englishman. 

The  guests  were  to  leave  Butte  on  the  seven  o'clock 
train,  which,  fortunately  for  the  strain  that  all  were  be 
ginning  to  feel,  was  only  half  an  hour  late.  When  it 
had  pulled  out  and  Ida  had  waved  her  last  farewell,  she 
walked  in  silence  to  her  car,  and  intimated  with  a  curt 
nod  that  Mowbray  might  take  the  seat  beside  her.  "But 
tell  Ben  where  you  want  to  go,"  she  said,  "for  I  can't 
ask  you  to  dine  with  me  tonight. ' ' 

Mowbray  told  the  chauffeur  to  drop  him  at  the  Club 
and  then  asked  his  lady,  whose  animation  had  dropped  to 
zero,  if  anything  had  happened  to  annoy  her,  or  if  she  were 
merely  worn  out. 

"Don't  ask  me  any  questions,"  said  Ida  sharply.  "I'm 
sorry  to  seem  inhospitable  but  I've  got  something  to  think 
out.  You  can  go  to  the  dance  at  the  Country  Club. ' ' 

"I  shall  more  likely  go  to  my  rooms  and  write  letters. 
Don't  worry  about  me.  Shall  we  have  a  ride  tomorrow 
morning  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know." 

Mowbray  was  always  philosophical  about  women,  having 
been  brought  up  with  many  sisters.  "You  are  tired  out," 
he  said  without  too  much  sympathy.  "Just  call  me  up 
if  you  feel  like  doing  anything  in  the  morning." 

"All  right.     Good  night." 

She  left  him  at  the  Silver  Bow  Club.  Her  own  house 
was  only  a  few  blocks  distant.  She  told  the  maid  who 
admitted  her  that  she  wanted  no  dinner  and  should  go 
to  bed  at  once  and  without  assistance.  When  she  reached 
the  seclusion  of  her  bedroom  she  locked  the  door,  flung 
her  hat  on  the  floor  and  stamped  on  it,  broke  several  valu 
able  objects,  and  then  paced  up  and  down,  gritting  her 
teeth  to  keep  from  screaming. 

There  was  but  one  person  on  earth  that  she  hated  more 
than  she  hated  Gregory  Compton  and  that  was  herself. 
She  had  meant  to  play  a  waiting  game  of  many  inter 
views,  in  which  her  fine  calculation  had  mapped  out  the 
insidious  approach,  the  adroit  pushing  aside  of  barrier 
after  barrier,  until  Gregory  returned  almost  inadvertently 
to  his  allegiance.  She  had  no  desire  for  romantic  scenes; 
they  would  have  embarrassed  herself,  and,  with  her  in 
stinctive  knowledge  of  man,  she  knew  that  Gregory  would 


328    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

shrink  back  from  any  situation  that  might  involve  ex 
planations.  Nor  did  she  wish  to  let  a  man  so  absorbed 
as  Gregory  feel  that  he  was  loved  too  much,  lest  he  chafe 
at  the  thought  of  feminine  exactions,  and  his  mind  con 
tinue  to  dwell  upon  the  delights  of  freedom.  He  might  be 
capable  of  moments  when  the  woman  alone  existed,  but 
there  would  be  long  intervals  when  he  would  hate  a 
woman's  clinging  arms  if  they  made  him  ten  minutes  late 
for  his  work,  particularly  if  he  was  headed  for  his  beloved 
mine.  Ida,  shrewd,  self-controlled,  watchful,  knew  her 
self,  now  that  her  powers  were  developed,  to  be  the  natural 
mate  for  such  a  man.  He  would  drive  a  temperamental 
woman  mad. 

And  she  had  seemed  to  make  a  steady  progress.  The 
geologists  had  remained  for  three  days  in  Butte  before 
visiting  Perch  of  the  Devil.  On  the  second  evening  they 
had  been  entertained  by  the  professors  of  the  School  of 
Mines,  but  on  the  other  two  evenings  she  had  given  them 
elaborate  dinners,  and  Gregory  had  attended  each.  She 
had  seen  that  he  was  increasingly  proud  of  her,  and  grate 
ful.  Upon  both  occasions  they  not  only  had  had  a  little 
talk  apart  but  he  had  drifted  back  to  her  more  than  once. 

And  today  she  had  spoiled  everything !  In  the  darkness 
of  that  mine  she  had  weakened  and  made  open  love  to 
him.  She  had  practically  offered  herself — she  ground  her 
teeth  as  she  thought  of  her  clinging  fingers,  her  appealing 
eyes,  her  cheek  almost  brushing  his — and  he  had  rejected 
her — with  consideration,  but  finality! 

If  he  had  knocked  her  down  she  would  have  cherished 
hope.  But  in  this  hour  she  had  none.  His  indifference 
was  colossal.  The  busiest  men  in  America  had  their 
women;  she  no  longer  could  comfort  herself  with  the  de 
lusion  that  the  mine  was  a  controlling  and  exclusive  pas 
sion;  she  merely  had  ceased  completely  to  attract  him — 
and  she  remembered  how  thorough  he  was;  she  no  more 
could  relight  those  old  fires  than  she  could  blow  life  into 
the  dead  ashes  of  Big  Butte.  He  would  turn  to  another 
woman  one  of  these  days ;  it  was  not  within  human  possi 
bility  that  he  would  go  through  life  without  love;  but 
not  to  her!  not  to  her!  She  would  do  to  entertain  his 
friends,  to  flaunt  his  wealth  and  advertise  his  success;  in 
time  no  doubt  he  would  treat  her  as  a  confidential  friend ; 
but  sexually  she  was  an  old  story.  It  was  apparent  that 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     329 

the  mere  thought  bored  him;  it  was  only  when  Gregory 
was  bored  that  he  was  really  polite. 

If  she  could  but  have  accepted  this,  resigned  all  hope, 
instead  of  subjecting  herself  to  humiliation ;  she,  who 
had  never  failed  to  send  the  blood  to  a  man's  head  with 
a  glance!  She  didn't  want  to  hate  him.  She  didn't  want 
to  hate  herself.  Why  could  she  not  have  been  content  to 
accept  the  inevitable  with  philosophy  and  grace? 

The  answer  that,  owing  to  some  mysterious  law  of  her 
being,  she  loved  him,  made  her  want  to  smash  everything 
else  in  the  room;  but  she  would  have  some  difficulty  con 
cealing  the  present  wreckage  from  her  servants,  so  she  bit 
her  handkerchief  to  shreds  instead. 

When  the  furies  had  tired  her  body  she  fell  into  a  chair 
and  although  her  brain  was  still  hot  with  the  blood  sent 
there  by  excitement  and  lack  of  food,  she  admitted  frankly 
that  the  peculiar  nature  of  her  agitation  was  due  to 
wounded  pride  and  intense  mortification;  had  she  arrived 
at  a  point  where  she  no  longer  could  hope,  but  without 
self-betrayal,  she  might  have  wept  bitter  tears,  but  there 
still  would  have  been  a  secret  sweetness  in  loving  him. 
Now,  she  growled  out  her  hatred.  She  longed  to  do  some 
thing  to  hurt  him.  If  she  only  were  another  sort  of 
woman !  She  would  go  to  Mowbray  's  rooms,  go  to  Helena 
with  him  for  a  week.  And  simultaneously  she  yearned  to 
be  consoled,  not  only  in  her  heart  but  in  her  wounded 
pride. 

Should  she  ask  her  husband  for  a  divorce;  revenge 
herself  by  becoming  an  English  duchess?  Ora,  in  the 
moment  or  two  they  had  found  together  at  the  station, 
had  told  her  that  Mowbray 's  older  brother  was  at  Davos, 
unmistakably  dying  of  tuberculosis,  and  that  his  engage 
ment,  insisted  upon  by  his  father,  had  been  broken.  Val- 
dobia  had  given  her  this  news  in  his  last  letter,  adding 
the  hope  that  his  friend  would  bring  Ida  back  with  him 
that  they  might  all  be  together  once  more. 

Was  this  the  solution  of  her  problem?  A  marriage  that 
would  demonstrate  to  Gregory  Compton  that  her  moment 
of  seeming  weakness  was  mere  coquetry;  a  marriage  that 
would  raise  her  an  immeasurable  social  distance  above 
him ;  a  permanent  dissociation  from  everything  that  could 
remind  her  of  him  and  this  terrible  obsession  that  had  dis 
organised  her  being,  reduced  her  to  the  grovelling  level 


830     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

of  the  women  whose  dependence  on  the  favour  of  man  she 
had  always  despised? 

When  she  reflected  that  her  revenge  would  fall  flat, 
Gregory's  not  being  the  order  of  mind  to  appreciate  the 
social  pre-eminence  of  a  titled  race,  she  ground  her  teeth 
again.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to  consider  herself. 
Should  she  choose  the  part  that  not  only  would  exalt  her 
station  and  fill  her  life  with  the  multifarious  interests 
of  a  British  peeress,  but  banish  this  man  in  time  from  her 
memory;  or  stay  on  and  alternate  torments  with  moments 
of  indescribable  sweetness  when  he  smiled  upon  her?  And 
might  she  not  yet  manipulate  him  into  her  net  if  she 
continued  to  play  the  waiting  game?  Or  would  she  go 
wholly  to  pieces  the  first  time  they  were  alone  together? 

Her  pride  strangled  at  this  possibility  and  brought  her 
to  her  feet.  The  blood  was  still  boiling  in  her  head,  she 
knew  what  nerves  were  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  She 
made  up  her  mind  to  go  out  and  walk.  In  this  part  of 
the  town  she  was  not  likely  to  meet  anyone. 

She  found  another  hat,  put  on  a  warm  coat,  and  let 
herself  out  of  the  house.  It  was  ten  o'clock.  All  the 
West  Side,  no  doubt,  was  at  the  Country  Club. 

For  a  time  she  walked  rapidly  and  aimlessly,  trying 
to  focus  her  mind  on  other  things.  But  when  a  woman  is 
in  love  and  the  path  is  stony,  she  is  obsessed  much  as 
people  are  that  suffer  from  shock  and  reiterate  ceaselessly 
the  circumstances  of  its  cause.  Her  brain  seethed  with 
hate,  longed  for  revenge.  Nothing  would  have  gratified 
her  more  than  to  take  the  secret  revenge  of  infidelity. 
Many  a  woman  has  taken  a  lover  for  the  satisfaction  of 
laughing  to  herself  at  her  husband's  dishonour;  to  dis 
honour  being  the  most  satisfactory  of  all  vengeance, 
whether  open  or  concealed. 

She  realised  abruptly  that  her  thoughts  had  led  her  un 
consciously  to  the  door  of  John  Mowbray's  lodgings.  The 
flat  had  been  lent  him  by  a  banker  to  whom  he  had  brought 
a  letter  from  his  brother,  and  who  had  gone  East  immedi 
ately  after  his  arrival;  the  banker's  wife  lived  in  Southern 
California.  It  occupied  the  second  story  of  a  house  in 
West  Broadway  and  had  its  own  entrance  on  a  side  street. 
Mowbray  had  given  a  tea  there  a  day  or  two  before,  and 
Ida  had  presided. 

She  did  not  delude  herself  for  a  moment  that  she  could 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     331 

take  her  full  revenge  upon  the  unconscious  Gregory,  but 
at  least  she  could  do  something  quite  shocking,  something 
that  would  infuriate  a  husband.  Ida  was  not  afraid  of 
any  man,  least  of  all  one  that  wished  to  make  a  duchess 
of  her,  but  it  would  be  an  additional  satisfaction  to  torment 
him,  and  an  adventure  with  a  spice  of  danger  in  it  no 
doubt  would  restore  her  equilibrium.  If  Mowbray  made 
violent  love  to  her  she  felt,  by  some  obscure  process  of 
feminine  logic,  that  she  would  forgive  Gregory  Compton. 

She  glanced  hastily  up  and  down  the  street,  then  more 
sharply,  wondering  if  she  had  dreamed  that  once  or  twice 
she  had  looked  over  her  shoulder  with  the  sense  of  being 
followed.  It  was  a  bright  moonlight  night.  No  one  was 
in  sight.  She  rang  the  bell  of  Mowbray 'a  flat.  The  door 
was  opened  from  above.  At  the  head  of  the  stairs  stood  the 
Jap  who  served  as  housekeeper  and  valet. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  taken  aback.  She  had  forgot 
ten  the  servant.  Then  she  closed  the  door  behind  her. 
"Is  Lord  John  in?"  she  asked  negligently. 

The  Jap  spread  out  his  hands  deprecatingly.  "His 
lordship  not  at  home,"  he  announced. 

Ida  hesitated  another  moment,  then  ascended  the  stair 
and  entered  the  living-room.  "Turn  on  the  lights, "  she 
said,  "I  shall  wait  for  him." 

The  Jap  obeyed  orders,  bowed,  and  withdrew.  For  a 
moment  Ida  was  tempted  to  telephone  to  the  Silver  Bow- 
Club,  but  Mowbray  was  sure  to  return  soon  to  write  his 
letters,  and  she  liked  the  idea  of  giving  him  a  surprise. 
She  lit  a  cigarette,  selected  a  novel  from  the  bookcase,  and 
sank  into  the  most  comfortable  of  the  chairs.  The  room 
was  warm;  both  body  and  brain  were  very  weary.  The 
cool  night  air  had  driven  the  blood  from  her  head.  She 
yawned,  dropped  the  book,  fell  sound  asleep. 

She  awoke  as  the  clock  was  striking  half-past  one.  She 
was  still  alone.  For  a  moment  she  stared  about  her,  be 
wildered,  then  rose  and  laughed  aloud. 

"This  is  about  the  flattest '      She  went  swiftly  out 

into  the  hall  and  awoke  the  slumbering  Jap,  "You  little 
yellow  devil,"  she  cried,  "why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  his 
lordship  had  gone  to  the  party  at  the  Country  Club  ? ' ' 

Once  more  the  Jap  was  deprecating.  "Madam  did  not 
ask." 

Ida  produced  a  gold  piece.     "Well,  you  are  not  to  tell 


332     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

him  that  I  came,  nor  anyone  else.  If  you  do  I'll  wring 
your  neck." 

The  Jap's  eyes,  fixed  upon  the  gold,  glistened.  "Why 
should  I  tell?"  he  asked  philosophically;  and  having 
pocketed  the  coin  ran  downstairs  and  bowed  the  lady  out. 

When  Ida  was  about  to  turn  the  corner  she  whirled 
about,  this  time  with  a  definite  sensation  of  being  followed. 
But  the  street  was  empty  save  for  a  man  slouching  down 
the  hill  with  an  unsteady  gait,  his  head  nodding  toward 
his  chest.  It  was  a  familiar  sight  in  any  mining  town; 
nevertheless  she  quickened  her  steps,  and  in  a  moment 
was  safe  within  her  own  house. 


XX 

(~)N  the  morning  following  the  departure  of  the  geologists 
^^  Gregory  took  the  bit  between  his  teeth  and  went  in 
to  Butte  to  see  his  wife.  In  his  first  moment  of  shock 
and  confusion  it  had  seemed  to  him  best  that  Ora,  whose 
subtlety  he  recognised,  was  the  one  to  manipulate  Ida's 
still  too  f ormalistic  mind  toward  the  divorce  court ;  but  he 
was  unaccustomed  to  relegate  any  part  of  his  affairs  to 
others,  least  of  all  to  a  woman.  Nor  did  he  think  it  neces 
sary  to  inform  Ora  of  his  sudden  decision.  He  might 
work  almost  double  shift  to  keep  her  out  of  his  thoughts 
and  diminish  temptation,  and  he  might  marry  her  and  con 
tinue  to  love  her  passionately;  but  she  would  obtain  little 
ascendency  over  him.  He  knew  what  he  wanted;  he  had 
trained  his  will  until  at  times  it  appeared  formidable 
even  to  himself,  and  he  was  as  nearly  the  complete  male 
that  regards  woman,  however  wonderful,  as  the  supple 
mentary  female  as  still  survives. 

He  had  few  illusions  about  himself,  and  it  had  crossed 
his  mind  more  than  once,  since  the  hope  of  divorce  had 
dazzled  both  of  them,  that  for  a  year  or  two  or  least  there 
must  be  a  certain  amount  of  friction  between  a  nature  like 
his  and  a  complex,  super-civilised,  overgrown  feminine 
ego  like  Ora  Blake.  While  he  had  sat  with  his  legs 
stretched  out  to  the  fire  and  his  eyes  half  closed,  his  body 
weary,  but  mentally  alert,  he  had  received  certain  definite 
impressions  of  an  independent  almost  anarchical  mind, 
contemptuous  of  the  world  and  its  midges  save  as  they 
might  be  of  use  to  herself;  of  a  mind  too  well  bred  ever 
to  be  managing  and  exacting  in  any  vulgar  sense,  but  in 
exorable  in  its  desires  and  as  unscrupulous  in  their  pursuit 
as  her  father  had  been ;  of  a  superlative  refinement  coupled 
with  a  power  of  intense  and  reckless  passion  found  only 
in  women  possessing  that  quality  of  imagination  that 
exalts  and  idealises  the  common  mortal  attributes.  More- 

333 


334     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL' 

over,  it  was  a  mind  that,  the  first  joy  of  submission  and 
surrender  diminished,  would  think  for  itself. 

Until  that  night  when  both  had  dropped  the  mask  for 
a  moment  he  had  never  thought  of  her  as  a  complicated 
ego,  merely  as  one  from  whom  he  felt  temporarily  sepa 
rated  after  a  union  of  centuries;  and  it  had  been  the  re 
luctant  admission  that  he  knew  her  very  little,  save  as  a 
gracious  woman  and  his  own  companion,  that  had  enabled 
him  to  school  himself  to  spend  long  hours  with  her  alone  as 
before.  He  had  tumbled  blindly  into  matrimony  once, 
and  no  matter  how  much  he  might  love  this  woman,  to 
whom  he  had  seemed  from  the  first  to  be  united  by  a  secret 
and  ancient  bond,  he  was  determined  none  the  less  to 
marry  the  second  time  with  his  eyes  wide  open. 

But  although  his  glimpses  of  Ora's  winding  depths  gave 
him  moments  of  uneasiness  he  always  fell  back  upon  the 
complacent  reflection  that  he  was  a  man,  a  man,  moreover, 
with  a  cast-iron  will,  and  that  the  woman  did  not  live  who 
would  not  have  to  adapt  herself  to  him  did  he  take  her  to 
wife. 

Until  the  day  before  the  party  at  the  mines  he  had  been 
content  to  drift,  but  a  certain  moment  down  in  his  own 
mine  had  given  a  new  and  abrupt  turn  to  both  thoughts 
and  purpose.  Ida  might  have  spared  herself  her  agonies 
of  shame :  she  had  not  betrayed  her  love,  but  she  had  given 
him  a  distinct  impression  that  she  was  employing  her  re 
doubtable  feminine  weapons  to  reduce  him  to  his  old  al 
legiance.  He  had  remembered  for  a  poignant  moment  that 
he  once  had  loved  this  woman  to  distraction,  and  during 
that  moment  he  saw  her  again  as  the  most  beautiful  and 
distracting  of  her  sex.  His  brief  surrender  had  filled  him 
with  fury.  He  had  no  intention  of  despising  himself. 
From  boyhood  up  he  had  had  nothing  but  contempt  for 
the  man  that  did  not  know  his  own  mind.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  this  serene  confidence  in  himself,  he,  who  was 
constitutionally  wary  in  spite  of  the  secret  and  wistful 
springs  of  romance  in  his  nature  and  the  apparent  sudden 
ness  of  his  bold  plunges,  never  would  have  married  Ida 
Hook,  nor  any  woman,  until  he  had  sounded  her  thor 
oughly.  But  he  had  behaved  like  any  hot-headed  and  con 
ceited  young  fool,  and,  much  as  he  now  admired  Ida,  it  both 
infuriated  him  and  appalled  him  to  feel  even  for  a  mo 
ment  toward  her  as  he  had  in  his  raw  inexperienced  youth. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     335 

He  therefore  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  her  like  a 
rational  being  and  ask  her  to  give  him  his  freedom.  They 
had  made  a  mistake.  They  were  reasonable  members  of 
an  advanced  civilisation,  where  mistakes  were  recognised 
and  rectified  whenever  possible.  He  did  not  doubt  for  a 
moment  that  reason  and  logic  must  appeal  as  forcibly  to  a 
woman  as  to  himself. 

The  door  of  his  wife's  house  was  opened  after  the  usual 
delay,  and  the  maid  told  him  that  Mrs.  Compton  was  up 
stairs  in  the  billiard  room  "or  somewheres."  He  took  the 
stairs  three  steps  at  a  time  lest  his  courage  evaporate; 
but  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  when  he  entered  the  large 
square  hall  and  saw  nothing  of  Ida.  He  would  have  rung 
for  the  maid,  but  reflected  that  no  doubt  he  had  already 
provided  enough  gossip  for  the  republic  below  stairs  with 
out  admitting  that  he  did  not  know  his  way  round  his 
wife's  house.  He  was  about  to  knock  on  each  door  in  turn 
when  he  noticed  that  one  in  a  corner  at  the  end  of  the 
hall  was  open  and  that  it  led  into  a  narrow  passageway. 
Beyond  there  was  light,  possibly  in  one  of  those  boudoirs 
of  which  he  had  heard.  Mrs.  Murphy  would  have  been  sure 
to  have  a  boudoir,  and  no  doubt  Ida,  little  disposed  as  she 
was  to  indolence,  spent  some  part  of  her  mornings  in  it. 

He  adventured  down  the  passageway  that  terminated  in 
a  large  room  full  of  sunlight.  He  saw  his  wife  standing  in 
the  middle  of  this  room  looking  about  her  with  a  curious 
expression  of  wistfulness.  The  little  hall  was  carpeted,  but 
she  heard  him  almost  as  soon  as  he  saw  her;  she  would 
have  known  those  light  swift  footsteps  in  a  marching  army. 
He  was  inside  the  room  before  she  could  reach  the  doorway 
and  close  it  behind  her  and  astonished  to  see  a  deep  blush 
suffuse  her  face.  His  quick  darting  glance  took  in  his  sur 
roundings  as  he  shook  hands  with  her.  The  room  was  a 
nursery. 

"I  had  two  beds  put  in  here  and  have  just  seen  that 
they  were  taken  out,"  stammered  Ida. 

Her  embarrassment  was  communicable,  but  he  said  gruf 
fly  as  he  walked  to  the  window,  ''Didn't  know  the  Mur- 
phys  had  children." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  had  two  little  ones.  Seven  in  all.  I 
think  it  odd  they  should  have  left  the  toys  here  even  if 
they  are  rich  enough  to  buy  toys  every  day.  There  is 
something  sacred  about  a  child's  toys," 


336     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Ida  was  merely  talking  against  time,  but  she  hardly 
could  have  said  anything  better  calculated  to  arrest  his 
attention. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"Do  you  mean  to  intimate — that  you  wish  you  had 
children?  You?" 

Ida's  brain  as  well  as  her  body  was  very  weary,  but 
it  sprang  to  action  at  once.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said  intensely. 
"Oh,  yes!  And  I  might  have  had  two!  They  would  be 
wonderful  in  this  house." 

"But He  cast  about  desperately.     "With  two 

children  you  could  not  have  gone  to  Europe." 

"That  wouldn't  have  mattered." 

"But — don't  you  realise  that  it  is  this  last  year  of  un 
usual  advantages  that  has  developed  you  so — so — remark 
ably?  You  hated  children " 

"And  do  you  suppose  it  was  Europe  that  made  me  want 
children  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  of  course,  nothing  is  as  simple  as  that.  You 
were  taken  out  of  yourself,  out  of  your  narrow  self- 
sufficient  little  life;  all  your  fine  latent  powers  were  de 
veloped ' ' 

"But  not  altogether  by  Europe !  Still,  I  don't  deny  that 
it  woke  me  up,  gave  me  not  one  new  point  of  view  but 
many,  developed  me,  if  you  like  that  better.  Would  you 
like  lunch  earlier?  You  get  up  at  such  unearthly 
hours ' ' 

"I'm  not  hungry.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  That  is  what 
I  came  for.  Won't  you  sit  down — no,  not  here!  Let  us 
go  where  there  are  comfortable  chairs.  I — I  am  tired." 

"Very  well.  Let  us  go  down  to  the  library."  As  she 
walked  before  him  he  noted  that  her  superb  body,  which 
usually  looked  as  if  set  with  fine  steel  springs,  was  heavy 
and  listless. 

The  masculine  looking  room  below  restored  his  balance. 

"You  don't  look  as  well  as  usual,"  he  remarked,  as  he 
threw  himself  into  the  deepest  of  the  chairs.  "Yesterday 
was  a  hard  day,  and  you  had  had  those  men  on  your 
hands  for " 

"I  am  tired,"  said  Ida  briefly,  "but  it  doesn't  matter. 
What  dp  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about?" 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  few  moments,  then  he  stood 
up  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  scowled  at  the 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     337 

carpet.  Involuntarily  Ida  also  rose  to  her  feet  and  braced 
herself,  crossing  her  arms  over  her  breast. 

"It  is  impossible  for  this  to  go  on,"  said  Gregory  rap 
idly.  "It  is  unnatural.  People  don't  submit  to  broken 
lives  in  these  days.  I  think  you  had  better  get  a  divorce 
and  be  happy.  Mowbray  seems  to  be  a  fine  fellow.  Of 
course  no  one  doubts  that  he  has  followed  you  here.  He 
could  make  you  happy,  and  as  soon  as  I  am  able — in  a 
year  or  two — I  shall  give  you  a  million ;  in  time  more. ' ' 

"Oh!     Oh!" 

"You  surely  cannot  want  to  live  for  ever  like — like — 
this!" 

"I  have  no  desire  to  marry  again.  Have  you?"  She 
shot  the  question  at  him,  every  nerve  on  edge  with  sus 
picion. 

But  the  last  thing  in  his  mind  was  to  betray  Ora,  and 
he  answered  promptly.  "No.  But  I  am  absorbed  in  my 
mine,  and  my  life  will  be  more  crowded  every  year  with 
accumulating  interests.  You  are  a  woman.  You  are  young 
— and — and — you  wish  for  children. ' ' 

Ida  believed  that  after  her  revelation  of  yesterday  he 
had  come  to  let  her  down  gently.  She  determined  to 
throw  her  all  on  one  heavy  stake.  If  she  lost,  at  least  she 
would  have  had  the  satisfaction  of  telling  him  that  she 
loved  him ;  she  had  already  sacrificed  her  pride,  and  there 
was  a  reckless  sweetness  in  the  thought  of  revealing  herself 
absolutely  to  this  man.  When  a  woman  loves  a  man  not 
quite  hopelessly  she  experiences  almost  as  much  satisfaction 
in  listening  to  her  own  confession  as  to  his. 

She  drew  herself  up,  her  arms  still  across  her  breast, 
and  Gregory  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  woman  look  so 
dignified  and  so  noble. 

"Listen,  Gregory,"  she  said,  with  no  tremor  in  her 
voice  but  deepening  sadness  in  her  eyes,  "I  regret  that  I 
have  no  children  because  they  would  be  yours.  I  am  will 
ing  to  live  and  die  alone  because  I  have  lost  your  love. 
I  know  how  I  lost  it,  but,  as  I  look  back  over  my  crudity 
and  ignorance,  I  do  not  see  how  I  could  have  kept  it.  You 
were  immeasurably  above  and  beyond  me.  Nature,  or  some 
mental  inheritance,  gave  you  sensitiveness,  refinement,  dis 
tinction,  to  say  nothing  of  brains.  I  had  to  achieve  all 
that  I  am  now.  I  was  a  raw  conceited  fool  like  thousands 
of  American  girls  of  any  class,  who  think  they  are  just  a 


338     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

little  too  good  for  this  world.  I  had  ceased  to  love  you 
in  my  inordinate  love  of  myself,  and  the  natural  conse 
quence  was,  that  as  I  made  no  attempt  to  improve  myself, 
I  lost  you  as  soon  as  my  halo  of  novelty  had  disappeared. 
I  took  for  granted,  however,  that  I  was  returning  from 
Europe  to  the  old  conditions.  When  I  discovered  that  you 
had  no  such  intention  I  was  piqued,  astonished,  angry. 
But  when  I  thought  it  all  out  I  understood.  You  were 
within  your  rights,  and  you  have  behaved  with  decency 
and  self-respect.  I  have  nothing  but  unmitigated  contempt 
for  two  people  that  continue  to  live  together  as  a  mere 
matter  of  habit  and  convenience.  They  are  the  real  im- 
moralists  of  the  world,  and  the  girls  that  'go  wrong'  know 
it  and  laugh  at  the  reformers.  Of  course  I  never  had 
ceased  to  love  you  down  deep,  but  it  took  just  the  course 
of  conduct  you  pursued  to  make  me  known  to  myself.  I 
realise  that  it  is  hopeless — too  late.  I  never  intended  to 
betray  myself,  but  I  did  so  in  an  unguarded  moment  yes 
terday.  Otherwise  I  never  should  have  told  you  all  this. 
I  have  realised  since  then  that  I  have  lost  you  irrevocably, 
but  at  least  if  I  cannot  be  your  wife  I  will  be  no  man's, 
and  I  shall  continue  to  bear  your  name — and  see  you 
sometimes. ' ' 

Gregory,  feeling  as  if  he  were  being  flayed,  had  dropped 
upon  the  edge  of  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 
When  she  finished  he  said  hoarsely:  "I  never  dreamed — 
I  never  imagined — I  thought  you  incapable  of  real  feel 
ing " 

"I  think  I  was  then.  And  since — Well,  you  are  only 
a  man,  after  all,  and  I  made  you  think  what  I  chose  until 

yesterday — Do  you  mean "  she  added  sharply,  "that 

you  did  not  guess — did  not  know  yesterday  ? ' ' 

"It  never  occurred  to  me.  I  thought  you  merely  were 
flirting  a  little— 

' '  Hi ! "  cried  Ida.  Then  she  got  back  into  her  role.  ' '  It 
doesn't  matter,"  she  said  with  sad  triumph.  "I  am  glad 
I  have  told  you.  As  for  the  future  ?  You  have  convinced 
Butte  that  we  are  the  best  of  friends.  Stay  away  if  you 
wish  unless  I  give  an  entertainment  where  your  absence 
would  cause  too  much  comment.  You  don't  want  to 
marry  again,  but  you  may  feel  yourself  as  free  as  air.  And 
one  day — when  you  are  worn  out,  tired  of  the  everlasting 
struggle  in  which  you  moneymakers  work  harder  than 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     339 

the  day  labourer,  with  his  eight-hour  laws  and  freedom  from 
the  terrific  responsibilities  of  money;  when  you  begin  to 
break  and  want  a  home,  I  will  make  one  for  you.  There  is 
the  doorbell.  Lord  John  is  coming  for  lunch.  I  shall 
give  him  his  dismissal — once  for  all. " 

Gregory  stood  up  and  took  her  hand.  He  had  a  vague 
masculine  sense  of  unfairness  somewhere  but  he  could  not 
begin  to  define  it,  and  he  was  as  deeply  impressed  as  dis 
couraged.  "You  are  a  grand  woman,  Ida,"  he  said. 
"This  is  not  an  hour  that  any  man  forgets.  I  wish  that 
you  might  be  happy." 

"Nature  never  intended  that  people  on  this  planet 
should  be  happy — only  in  spots,  anyhow.  And  don 't  worry 
about  me.  You  have  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  a  great 
deal  out  of  this  old  game  we  call  life,  and  I  am  grateful 
to  you.  Good-bye." 

They  shook  hands  and  Gregory  went  out  into  the  hall 
as  the  maid  was  admitting  Lord  John.  This  time  the  men 
made  no  pretence  at  politeness.  They  merely  glared  and 
passed. 


XXI 

Primo  vein  had  been  recovered  some  time  since  and 
Ora  had  traversed  the  fault  drift  twice  and  watched 
the  drilling  from  the  station ;  not  only  to  assert  her  rights 
as  mistress  of  the  mine  but  to  experience  the  sensations 
she  had  anticipated.  She  soon  discovered  that  when  a 
woman  is  in  love,  and  the  issue  doubtful,  other  interests 
fail  to  provide  sensations.  But  she  went  down  into  the 
mine  every  day  and  roamed  through  the  older  workings. 
She  was  tormented  and  restless,  but  by  no  means  without 
hope ;  and  this  being  the  case  she  sometimes  wondered  why 
she  continued  to  write  to  Valdobia  as  if  nothing  had  oc 
curred  to  interfere  with  their  tacit  engagement.  It  was 
her  duty  to  tell  him  the  truth,  at  once,  but  she  switched 
off  all  other  currents  every  Saturday  morning  and  wrote 
her  Roman  long  gay  tantalising  letters;  being  gifted  as  a 
scribe,  like  so  many  women,  she  made  them  notable  with 
amusing  and  enlightening  incidents  of  mining-camp  life. 

She  had  not  seen  Gregory  since  Monday  evening.  He 
had  gone  suddenly  to  Butte  on  the  morning  following  the 
visit  of  the  geologists,  and  had  telephoned  her  that  he 
should  take  the  afternoon  train  to  the  Capital  and  no  doubt 
be  detained  for  several  days.  She  had  expected  that  he 
would  telephone  or  telegraph  from  Helena ;  that  he  would 
write  was  too  much  to  expect ;  she  had  never  seen  his  hand 
writing.  But  he  had  not  recognised  her  existence. 

Four  days  after  his  departure  she  went  down  into  her 
mine  and  walked  as  far  as  the  ragged  opening  blasted 
by  the  Apex  men,  thinking  of  Ida.  How  much  longer 
would  it  be  before  Mowbray  overcame  her  prejudices,  and 
her  own  independent  and  proud  spirit  revolted  under  her 
husband's  complete  indifference?  Few  women  were  given 
such  an  opportunity  for  revenge  both  subtle  and  open  as 
Mowbray  was  offering  to  Ida  Compton. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  her  reflections  that  Ora  heard  a 
light  footfall  coming  down  the  fault  drift  of  Perch  of  the 

340 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     341 

Devil.  Without  an  instant 's  hesitation  she  descended  the 
short  ladder  that  had  been  placed  between  the  two  drifts 
for  the  benefit  of  the  geologists,  and  relit  her  candle.  She 
met  Gregory  in  the  little  station.  He  also  held  a  candle, 
but  he  was  so  startled  at  the  apparition  that  he  dropped 
it.  She  thrust  the  point  of  her  candlestick  into  a  wooden 
post. 

"I  was  going  over  to  see  you,"  he  said  unsteadily  as 
he  picked  up  his  candle,  relighted  it,  and  mechanically  fol 
lowed  her  example.  He  turned  abruptly  and  walked  half 
way  up  the  drift  and  back,  while  she  stood  still,  shivering 
with  anxiety.  Something  had  put  his  determined  serenity 
out  of  joint.  A  crisis  impended.  She  felt  her  unsteadi 
ness  and  sat  down  suddenly  on  the  edge  of  an  ore  car, 
fancying  this  dimly  lighted  room  and  the  black  passage 
leading  to  it  looked  as  a  death-house  cell  must  look  on  the 
eve  of  execution. 

Finally  she  stammered:  "What  is  it?  Please  tell 
me?" 

He  leaned  against  the  wall  in  front  of  her.  ' '  I  am  afraid 
it's  all  up,"  he  said  lifelessly.  "I  went  in  on  Tuesday  to 
ask  Ida  to  obtain  a  divorce.  She  refused  to  listen.  She 
has  no  wish  to  remarry  and  will  have  none  of  divorce. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  definite  than  our  inter 
view.  ' ' 

"But — but  surely  in  time — if  we  have  patience " 

"There  is  no  hope.  Mowbray  entered  as  I  left.  She 
intended  to  dismiss  him  at  once." 

Ora,  without  reasoning,  of  which  she  was  incapable 
at  the  moment,  felt  that  he  had  been  convinced  by  more 
than  argument  and  mere  words.  She  flung  her  arms  over 
her  lap  and  dropping  her  head  upon  them  burst  into  a 
wild  transport  of  tears  and  sobs;  she  was  so  unused  to  all 
expression  of  emotion  that  she  neither  knew  nor  cared 
how  to  control  it,  and  the  tears  swept  out  the  floodgates 
that  had  held  her  passion  in  check. 

She  looked  up  suddenly  and  saw  Gregory  standing  over 
her  with  twitching  face  and  clenched  hands ;  and  exulting 
in  the  complete  abandonment  of  all  the  controls  that  civili 
sation  has  bred,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  flung  herself  into 
his  arms  and  her  own  arms  about  his  neck.  She  had  her 
immediate  reward,  for  he  nearly  crushed  her,  and  he  kissed 
her  until  they  both  were  breathless  and  reeling. 


342     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

This  was  the  passion  she  had  read  and  dreamed  of;  for 
once  the  realities  were  commensurate ;  instinct  warned  her 
to  postpone  argument  and  prolong  the  moment  to  its 
utmost.  There  was  room  in  her  brain  for  the  doubt  if  such 
a  moment  ever  could  come  again,  so  little  of  lovemaking  is 
wholly  unpremeditated.  So  she  clung  to  him  and  kissed 
him,  and  in  that  dim  cavern  his  dark  face,  so  reminiscent 
of  those  great  prehistoric  races  that  interested  him,  looked 
as  he  felt,  primeval  man  that  had  found  his  mate. 

But,  whatever  his  ancient  inheritance,  he  was  the  imme 
diate  product  of  a  highly  practical  civilisation.  His  keen 
calculating  brain  sent  a  lightning  flash  across  his  passion. 
He  lifted  her  off  her  feet  and  sat  her  down  on  the  ore 
car.  Then  he  took  a  candlestick  in  either  hand. 

"Come  to  the  other  station,"  he  said  peremptorily,  and 
led  the  way  to  a  less  dangerous  seclusion. 

He  was  half  way  up  the  fault  drift  before  Ora,  sub 
dued  but  rebellious,  stooped  mechanically  and  found  the 
veil  that  she  wore  in  place  of  a  hat  when  in  the  mines.  She 
followed  him  slowly.  She  felt  rather  than  reasoned  that 
she  had  missed  her  opportunity  and  wished  angrily  that 
she  had  had  lovers  and  knew  better  how  to  manage  men. 
By  the  time  she  reached  the  shaft  station  the  confusion 
in  her  mind  had  lifted  somewhat  and  she  had  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  she  could  not  overcome  him  in  the 
same  way  again,  but  must  use  her  brains.  She  sat  down 
on  the  box  and  smoothed  her  hair  with  apparent  uncon 
cern. 

Gregory  had  disposed  of  the  two  candlesticks  and  said, 
his  voice  still  unsteady:  "There  isn't  much  to  say,  but  I 
want  to  have  my  last  interview  with  you  in  my  mine.  I 
cannot  get  away  from  here  for  two  or  three  days.  Will 
you  leave  at  once?" 

' '  Will  you  listen  to  me  ?    I  have  my  right  to  be  heard  ? ' ' 

"What  is  there  to  say?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  looked  up  at  him. 
Gregory  sighed  and  set  his  teeth.  She  looked  surpassingly 
lovely  and  rather  helpless — women,  at  their  best,  always 
seemed  to  him  pathetic. 

"Gregory,"  she  said,  "you  don't  doubt  that  I  love 
you?" 

' '  No.  But  what  is  the  use  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  am  gping 
to  make  you  my  mistress — all  Montana  would  know  it  in 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     343 

less  than  no  time.  Pm  no  saint,  but  it  wouldn't  work — 
not  for  us!" 

"But  you  want  me?" 

"Oh!"  He  turned  away,  then  swung  round  upon  her. 
She  had  stood  up.  Her  head  was  bent  forward.  "You 
should  help  me  out!"  he  cried  angrily.  "Can't  you  see — 
it's  you  I'm  thinking  of.  Do  you  suppose  I  want  all  the 
sporting  women  in  Butte  making  horrible  jokes  about  you 
—all  your  friends  cutting  you?  What's  a  man  good  for 
if  he  doesn't  protect  a  woman?" 

"Love  affairs  have  lasted  for  years  without  being  found 
out." 

"Precious  seldom.  And  we  are  not  buried  in  a  big 
city.  I  must  live  out  here  and  you  would  either  have  to 
live  out  here  too,  or  I  should  be  sneaking  into  your  house 
in  Butte.  A  business-like  intrigue !  Remember  I  lived 
somewhat  before  I  married.  Sentiment  and  romance  soon 
evaporate ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  that  is  always  what  I  have  thought  when  I 
have  read  the  American  novelists'  attempts  to  portray 
what  they  call  a  'guilty  love'."  The  only  word  that  ex 
presses  it  delicately  is  liaison,  and  the  setting  should  be 
foreign  as  well.  There  is  no  background  here.  We  are 
still  under  the  drab  shadow  of  Puritanism.  I  have  heard 
it  estimated  that  twenty-five  thousand  American  women 
go  abroad  every  year  to  indulge  in  a  fleeting  liaison  that 
gives  them  courage  to  endure  the  desperately  material  and 
commonplace  life  of  this  country  for  another  year.  You 
don't  understand  that  because  you  never  have  been  in 
Europe.  But  Egypt — Italy — in  Southern  Europe  any 
where — with  its  unbridled  beauties  of  nature  and  its  far 
more  poetic  beauties  that  centuries  of  art  have  given  it — 
and  a  thousand  years  of  love  behind  us — Oh,  cannot  you 
imagine  how  wonderful  love  would  be?  Do  you  think  7 
should  ever  want  to  come  back?" 

Gregory  was  staring  at  her.  "Do  you  mean,"  he  stam 
mered,  "that  you  would  sacrifice  your  reputation  openly 
— your  future — do  you  care  enough  for  that?" 

"I  mean  I  love  you  so  exclusively  that  I  wish  I  had  a 
thousand  times  more  to  sacrifice.  ' ' 

"But — but — there  are  always  Americans  travelling — 
and  you  know  many  Europeans " 

"They  are  always  easy  to  avoid.    There  are  villas  with 


344     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

walls,  and  pink  flowers  on  top  of  the  walls.  And  we  could 
travel  and  see  the  wonders  of  art  when  the  tourist  season 
was  over.  Nor  would  I  monopolise  you.  You  could  have 
the  society  of  men  of  brains  and  achievement  everywhere. ' ' 
He  continued  to  stare  at  her  radiant  wistful  face.  He 
had  known  that  she  loved  him,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to 
him  that  she  would  be  willing  to  give  up  the  world  for  his 
sake.  She  was  a  proud  woman,  an  aristocrat,  she  had  an 
exceptional  position  everywhere;  the  great  world  when 
they  parted  stood  ready  to  offer  its  consolations. 

She  had  unrolled  a  heavenly  vision!  His  mind  had  re 
volted  from  debasing  her  to  the  status  of  what  is  euphemis 
tically  known  in  the  "West  as  "sporting  women";  he  also 
remembered  the  immediate  disillusionments  of  his  younger 
manhood  and  wondered  if  the  hideousness  of  Butte  had 
been  responsible.  The  Mediterranean  with  its  ancient  civ 
ilisations  flourishing  and  forgotten  before  the  historic  pe 
riod,  Egypt,  full-grown  offspring  of  a  still  more  ancient 
but  vanished  civilisation — both  called  to  that  archaeological 
instinct  so  closely  allied  to  the  geological,  made  him  fancy 
he  heard  faint  ancestral  voices.  Ora's  eyes  were  holding 
his,  and  her  gaze  was  as  powerful  as  his  own.  For  the 
moment  he  no  longer  was  a  son  of  the  newest  section  of 
the  newest  world.  The  turquoise  waters  of  the  Mediter 
ranean  spread  before  him,  but  he  saw  it  alive  with  gal- 
He  jerked  his  eyes  away,  folded  his  arms  and  stared 
downward.  He  must  think  rationally,  not  with  vapours 
in  his  brain.  It  might  be  that  he  would  be  more  than 
fool  to  sacrifice  to  any  consideration  the  one  chance  for 
happiness  in  perfect  union  that  life  would  offer  him. 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  that  he  was  staring  at  the 
rocky  floor  of  his  mine,  of  its  first  level ;  the  flickering  can 
dle  flames  revealed  bits  of  bright  yellow  metal.  And  below 
was  the  second  level  with  its  superb  shoot  of  copper  ore 
ten  feet  wide.  'And  below,  on  the  third  level,  still  was  the 
vein  far  more  beautiful  than  virgin  gold.  And  down — 
down — in  those  vast  unlocked  caverns — what  mysteries — 
what  wonder-ores  might  not  the  earth  harbour  for  him 

alone  to  find  and  name 

1 '  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  cried  Ora  sharply.  Then 
she  threw  out  her  arms  wildly.  "I  know!  I  know!  It 
is  those  accursed  ores!  Oh,  God!  What  have  I  in  me, 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     345 

I,  a  mere  woman,  to  compensate  for  the  loss  of  a  mine  ?  I 
was  a  fool — Of  course!  Of  course!" 

But  Gregory,  although  his  blood  had  frozen  in  his  veins 
at  the  horrid  vision  of  a  permanent  divorce  from  his  mine, 
would  make  no  such  admission. 

1 '  Ora, ' '  he  said  quietly,  * '  it  would  be  very  wonderful — 
for  about  three  months.  You  would  despise  me  if  I  were 
content  to  dawdle  away  my  life  in  an  olive  grove,  or  throw 
away  my  best  years  and  these  great  energies  nature  has 
given  me,  doing  nothing  in  that  old  civilisation  in  which  I 
could  find  no  place.  And  in  time  you  would  resent  the 
weakness  that  had  stranded  you  with  no  recourse  in  life  but 
myself.  That  sort  of  thing  has  never  been  a  success  and 
never  will  be,  because  nature  did  not  make  man  to  live  on 
love  alone,  and  it  is  much  the  same  with  the  intellectual 
woman.  It  wouldn't  work.  Not  with  us.  I  have  known 
from  the  beginning  that  it  must  be  marriage  or  nothing. 
And  Ida  would  not  divorce  me  if  I  ran  away  with  you. 
She  would  be  entitled  to  her  revenge  and  she  would  take 
it."  He  leaned  forward  and  signalled  the  station  call. 
"Please  take  the  skip  when  it  comes.  I  am  going  below." 
And  he  ran  down  the  ladder. 


XXII 

got  into  the  skip  and  was  whisked  to  the  surface. 
She  drew  the  veil  over  her  head  and  face,  wishing 
dimly  that  she  had  gone  home  through  the  mines;  but  a 
moment  later  the  veil  fell  to  her  shoulders  unnoticed.  As 
she  crossed  the  Apex  claim  she  was  vaguely  aware  that 
some  one,  almost  in  her  path,  lifted  his  hat.  She  bowed 
automatically,  feeling  like  those  poor  wound-up  royalties* 
who  must  smile  graciously  upon  their  loyal  people  even 
though  a  cancer  devour  the  body  or  the  brain  reel  with 
sorrow. 

Whalen,  abnormal  in  vanity  and  conceit  though  he  was, 
took  no  offence ;  not  only  was  this  in  his  estimation  the  one 
great  lady  of  the  Western  annex,  but  he  was  startled  by 
the  expression  in  her  fixed  eyes  of  anguish,  terror,  and  sur 
prise.  He  had  seen  Gregory  Compton  go  down  into  hia< 
mine  not  a  half  an  hour  ago,  and  it  was  easy  for  his  fic- 
tionised  if  unimaginative  mind  to  conjure  up  a  hazy  pic 
ture  of  the  scene  underground.  He  turned  very  red,  partly 
from  gratification  at  being  so  close  to  human  passion  and 
pain,  but  more  from  the  knowledge  that  he  shortly  could' 
offer  all  the  elements  for  another  and  a  still  more  dramatic 
crisis.  At  the  same  time  he  could  do  the  one  woman  he 
admired  in  this  wilderness  a  good  turn  and  heal  his  canker 
ous  ache  for  vengeance. 

Ora  went  on  to  her  little  house  and  sank  into  a  chair 
before  the  burnt-out  logs.  Her  body  felt  as  if  it  were  a» 
vessel  into  which  had  been  poured  all  the  waters  of  wom 
an's  bitterness  and  despair.  Nevertheless,  her  predomi 
nant  sensation  was  astonishment.  For  a  year  she  had  lived 
in  a  fool's  paradise,  indissolubly  mated  with  Gregory 
Compton.  It  was  only  in  the  moment  when  the  idea  of 
his  own  divorce  flashed  into  her  mind  that  she  realised  she- 
had  meant  to  have  him  for  ever,  that  her  imagination  had 
been  a  mere  playground  on  which  she  had  romped,  and 

346 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     347 

abruptly  abandoned  when  she  saw  reality  standing  at  the 
gate. 

Since  that  day,  interrupted  only  by  the  fevers  and  doubts 
of  love,  she  had  accepted  with  joy  her  predestined  fate  as 
the  visible  mate  of  Gregory  Compton.  Else  what  did  it  all 
mean  ?  She  had  counted  on  marriage,  but  that  respectable 
solution  had  faded  into  utter  insignificance  as  soon  as  the 
shock  of  Ida's  refusal  had  passed.  To  fling  the  world  aside, 
to  regard  it  as  a  mere  whirling  speck  in  the  void,  followed 
as  a  matter  of  course.  She  and  this  man  would  fill  all 
space. 

And  she  had  lost.  It  was  over.  Over.  Over.  For  a 
time  the  astonishment  consequent  upon  the  mental  reitera 
tion  of  this  fact  held  her.  Her  mind,  quick,  alert,  sinuous 
as  she  had  always  found  it,  was  unable  to  readjust  itself. 
How  could  anything  be  over  that  manifestly  had  been 
created  to  go  on  for  ever?  "What,  then,  did  it  all  mean: 
that  mutual  recognition  when  they  had  sat  together  that 
night  in  Butte,  that  long  mental  obsession,  this  later  per 
fect  understanding,  this  indubitable  power  to  find  in  each 
other  complete  happiness?  Over.  And  by  the  man's  de 
cree.  How  odd.  How  odd.  And  what  a  tragic  waste. 

She  knew  that  the  mine  had  pulled  him,  but  she  was 
too  much  the  woman  to  take  a  mine  seriously.  There  had 
been  some  other  reason.  He  loved  her ;  she  never  doubted 
that.  He  had  resisted — why?  She  groped  back  through 
her  limited  experience,  wondering  if  the  trouble  were  that 
she  had  had  so  little.  Life  had  not  begun  with  her  until  a 
year  ago.  She  had  been  a  mere  student,  deliberately  liv 
ing  in  the  unreal,  often  deluding,  world  of  books,  the  worst 
of  all  preparations  for  life. 

Some  women  were  independent  of  experience,  knew  men 
by  instinct.  She  felt  that  Ida,  in  a  similar  situation,  would 
have  had  her  way.  She  had  not  managed  cleverly;  no 
doubt  with  all  her  charm  and  her  natural  allurement  for 
men,  even  a  certain  acquired  coquetry,  she  was  one  of 
those  women  that  could  theorise  brilliantly,  but  failed 
utterly  to  manage  their  own  affairs  at  critical  moments. 

She  was  well  aware  that  she  had  not  been  developing 
along  ideal  lines  of  late,  particularly  since  she  had  come 
out  here  with  the  unadmitted  intention  of  stealing  her 
friend's  husband.  By  all  the  laws  of  tradition  she  should 
be  wicked  all  through.  Pride,  diffidence,  fastidiousness — 


348    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

one  or  all,  she  was  in  no  condition  to  decide — had  pre 
vented  her  from  playing  the  deliberate  role  of  siren.  She 
sighed  and  wished  that  life  could  be  played  upon  the 
formula  adopted  by  so  many  brilliant  novelists:  a  steady 
unrelenting  development  of  character  upon  strictly  logical 
lines  and  by  means  of  cunningly  created  situations,  that 
was  as  much  like  life  as  a  mother's  formula  would  be  for 
the  thoughts  and  deeds  of  her  children  at  a  given  hour  a 
year  hence. 

Ora  did  not  know  that  most  people  in  their  rare  mo 
ments  of  honest  introspection  find  themselves  singularly 
imperfect.  She  had  looked  for  greater  consistency  in  her 
complex  recesses;  assuming  that  if  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  take  the  husband  of  any  woman,  and  that  woman  her 
best  friend,  she  would  be  wholly  hard  and  wicked,  and, 
for  the  sake  of  the  result,  quite  willing  to  achieve  this  con 
sistent  imperfection.  And  such  hardness  would  be  the 
surest  of  all  solaces  in  the  event  of  failure.  She  felt  neither 
hard  nor  nearly  as  wicked  as  she  should,  but  she  did  recog 
nise  the  fact  that  if  she  had  one  more  chance  she  would  win 
by  hook  or  crook. 

Her  thoughts  swung  to  Ida.  What  had  she  said  to 
Gregory  in  that  last  decisive  interview  ?  Ida  was  as  clever 
as  the  devil.  She  would  watch  her  chance  and  make  just 
the  right  appeal  at  the  right  moment.  Gregory  could  be 
ruthless  to  the  woman  of  whom  he  had  wearied  or  to  the 
woman  he  loved,  but  if  his  wife  played  upon  his  honour, 
his  Western  chivalry,  his  sense  of  fair  play,  and  reiterated 
her  own  rights — to  her  would  he  lower  his  flag  if  it  struck 
the  life  out  of  his  own  heart,  and  left  himself  nothing  to 
feed  the  deep  passion  and  romance  of  his  nature  for  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

In  any  case  Ida  had  won. 

Once  more  Ora  wished  that  she  had  gone  to  work  when 
she  found  herself  penniless  after  her  father's  death.  She 
would  have  developed  normally,  and  it  was  unthinkable 
that  in  the  little  world  of  Butte  she  would  not  have  met 
Gregory  Compton  while  he  was  free.  Then  not  only  would 
she  be  happy  today  but  know  nothing  of  those  abysmal 
depths  in  her  soul  which  she  execrated  while  yielding  to 
them  and  lamenting  that  for  the  time  being  they  were  no 
worse.  Love  may  be  divine  when  all  goes  well,  or  one  is 
born  into  the  cult  of  the  martyr,  but  when  it  comes  too 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     349 

late  to  passionate  natures  associated  with  virile  and  ac 
complished  minds,  it  can  be  the  very  spawn  of  hell.  Ora's 
regret  that  she  was  not  of  the  breed  of  those  finished  wan 
tons  of  history  that  rose  to  fame  on  the  shattered  hearts 
of  men  was  born  of  expediency.  Could  she  have  been 
given  her  choice  and  Gregory  Compton  she  would  have 
elected  to  be  fine  and  noble,  consummating  the  lofty  dic 
tates  of  her  superior  intellectual  endowment.  Not  yet  had 
she  realised  that  lacking  a  ruthless  centralised  ideal,  rarely 
allied  to  brilliant  intellects,  the  souls  of  women  even  more 
than  those  of  men  (who  have  less  time  and  more  poise)  are 
the  playthings  of  Circumstance. 

She  became  aware  that  her  Chinaman  was  crossing  the 
room,  and  before  she  could  refocus  her  wandering  mental 
vision  and  intercept  him,  he  had  opened  the  front  door  and 
admitted  Professor  Whalen. 


XXIII 

IDA  had  broken  a  dinner  engagement  and  sat  alone  in  her 
1  library.  She  knew  that  Gregory  had  passed  through 
Butte  that  day  on  his  way  from  Helena  to  Pony ;  she  had 
seen  him  leave  the  Block  where  his  lawyers  had  their  offices 
and  jump  into  a  waiting  taxi.  He  was  not  the  man  to  take 
a  cab  for  anything  but  an  imminent  train.  She  had 
rushed  home,  but  he  had  neither  called  nor  telephoned. 
She  reasoned  that  he  would  be  more  than  man  if  he  were 
not  reluctant  to  see  her  again  after  their  last  embarrassing 
interview,  that  there  was  no  cause  for  fresh  doubts,  and 
that  there  was  literally  nothing  for  her  to  do  at  present 
but  continue  to  play  her  waiting  game.  But  she  felt  both 
sad  and  nervous,  and  wondered  if  it  were  in  her  to  despair, 
to  * '  cut  and  run ' '  like  other  women ;  or  whether  it  might 
not  be  wise  to  absent  herself  for  a  time.  Gregory  was  the 
sort  of  man  to  appreciate  delicacy,  and  after  an  absence  of 
two  months  they  would  meet  quite  naturally.  She  could 
visit  Yellowstone  and  Glacier  Park,  and  send  him  pleasant 
impersonal  postcards. 

But  although  she  hesitated  to  acknowledge  it,  she  was 
tired  of  her  waiting  game,  she  wished  that  "fate  would  get 
a  move  on",  and  she  had  left  her  husband  once  with  un 
foreseen  results.  She  leaned  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  face.  She  had  always 
cherished  a  high  opinion  of  her  cleverness  in  regard  to 
men,  but  she  was  nonplussed.  For  a  woman  of  her  re 
source  there  should  be  some  alternative  to  waiting.  She 
knew  that  she  had  made  a  deep  impression  on  her  husband 
in  that  momentous  interview,  but  who  could  say  that  he 
had  not  deliberately  put  the  memory  of  it  out  of  his 
mind  ?  Certainly  there  was  no  sign  that  it  had  softened  him 
or  paved  the  way  for  her  reinstatement  into  his  life. 

She  was  alarmed  at  her  waning  self-control.  During; 
these  last  few  days  she  barely  had  been  able  to  play  her 
part  in  society;  the  people  at  the  various  functions  she 

350 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     351 

had  attended  had  seemed  to  her  confused  and  absent  mind 
like  marionettes  that  she  could  sweep  off  the  stage  with  her 
arm,  and  she  had  retreated  into  her  shell  lest  she  insult 
them  irreparably. 

She  brought  her  heavy  brows  together.  Could  there  be 
another  woman  after  all?  Gregory  was  cleverer  than  any 
detective.  Why  should  it  occur  to  him  to  suggest  divorce, 
he  a  man  so  absorbed  in  a  mine  that  he  had  forgotten 
how  to  live — merely  out  of  consideration  for  a  discarded 
wife  whose  existence  he  generally  managed  to  forget? 
It  was  certainly  odd,  and  its  idiosyncrasies  grew  and 
swelled  as  she  brooded.  She  wondered  if  she  had  been  a 
fool.  But  who  in  heaven's  name  could  the  woman  be? 
Of  course  it  was  only  a  passing  fancy,  but  could  she 
wait,  could  she  wait? 

She  was  aroused  by  a  slight  cough,  discreet  but  full  of 
subtle  insolence.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  Whalen 
smiled  as  he  saw  her  drawn  face  and  bloodshot  eyes.  He 
stood  just  within  the  door,  and  held  a  cap  in  his  hand. 
He  wore  a  light  automobile  coat;  a  pair  of  goggles  only 
half  covered  his  bulging  brow.  His  upper  teeth  were 
clamped  down  over  his  lower  lip,  a  habit  when  steadying 
his  nerves.  Ida  thought  she  had  never  seen  him  look  so 
hideous,  so  like  a  mongrel  cur. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked. 

"How  gracious  you  are!  How  like  Mrs.  Blake,  who 
would  not  forget  her  manners  if  she " 

"I've  got  no  manners  for  your  sort.    Get  out." 

"Oh,  not  yet.  I've  something  to  say.  I've  waited  for 
over  a  year,  but  my  time  has  come " 

"You'll  go  out  the  way  you  went  last  time  if  you  don't 
say  what  you've  got  to  say  pretty  quick  and  get  out  by 
yourself. ' ' 

Whalen  looked  over  his  shoulder  nervously,  and  meas 
ured  the  distance  to  the  front  door.  He  had  asked  leave 
of  the  maid  to  announce  himself,  and,  when  she  had  dis 
appeared,  reopened  the  door  and  left  it  ajar. 

"It  won't  take  me  long,"  he  said  grimly.  "It  took  me 
a  little  longer  to  tell  Mrs.  Blake,  for  she  was  hard  to  con 
vince;  but  she  was  convinced  before  I  left.  It  is  merely 
this:  I  saw  you  go  into  Lord  John  Mowbray's  rooms  on 
Monday  night  shortly  after  ten  o'clock  and  come  out  at 
half -past  one." 


352     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

"Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  I  had  a  feeling  all  the  time 
there  was  a  sneak  in  the  neighbourhood.  Well,  much  good 
your  spying  will  do  you.  Lord  John  was  at  the  Country 
Club  until  three  in  the  morning  and  everybody  knows  it." 

She  spoke  calmly,  but  she  was  profoundly  disturbed. 
She  continued,  however,  in  the  same  tones  of  cutting  con 
tempt,  for  she  saw  that  he  was  taken  aback,  "I  merely  mis 
understood  an  invitation  of  Lord  John's  for  a  bridge 
party.  I  thought  it  was  for  that  night,  and  although  I 
was  surprised  to  find  myself  the  first  and  Lord  John  not 
there,  I  sat  down  to  wait  and  fell  asleep.  I  had  had  a 
hard  day.  I  only  condescend  to  explain,"  she  continued 
witheringly,  "because  you  are  as  venomous  as  a  mad  dog 
and  it  is  as  well  to  muzzle  you  at  once." 

'I  don't  believe  a  word  of  that  yarn,  and  neither  will 
anyone  else.  I  certainly  managed  to  convince  Mrs. 
Blake " 

"Not  she.    She  must  have  laughed  in  your  face " 

"  Oh  no !  Not  Mrs.  Blake !  But  I  will  admit  that  it  was 
not  easy  to  make  her  believe  ill  of  you.  Perhaps  I  should 
not  have  succeeded,  but  when  a  woman  is  eager  to  be 
lieve — — "  He  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders;  but 
once  more  he  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  line  of  retreat. 
The  heavy  library  table  was  between  them. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  Ida  spoke  roughly,  but 
her  heart  began  to  hammer.  She  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to 
run  away,  but  she  stood  rigidly  and  glared  at  him. 
'Here!"  she  continued,  "come  to  the  point.  Spit  out 
your  poison.  What  particular  object  had  you  in  trying  to 
set  my  best  friend  against  me  ?  It  would  have  been  more 
like  you  to  run  to  a  newspaper." 

"That  later.  I  wanted  to  do  Mrs.  Blake  a  good  turn 
and  at  the  same  time  let  her  be  the  one  to  teU  your  hus^ 
band  that  he  could  secure  his  freedom  without  further 
delay " 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  do  you  mean?"  Ida's 
eyes  were  staring  as  if  they  saw  a  vision  of  herself  at  the 
stake;  she  tossed  off  her  pride  as  she  would  a  hampering 
cloak.  "Oral  Ora!  Oh,  not  Ora!  You  liar!"  she 

screamed.    "Prove  what  you  said  quick "    But  he  saw 

that  she  had  caught  the  edge  of  the  table  and  that  her 
body  was  swaying. 

"Oh,  neither  will  deny  it  now,"  he  replied  in  a  tone  of 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     353 

deadly  quiet.  "She  went  out  there  to  be  near  him,  no 
doubt  of  that;  and  he's  spent  hours  on  end  in  that  bunga 
low.  I  went  to  Helena  and  back  with  him  and  I  guessed 
that  something  was  up,  for  he  was  glummer  and  more 
disagreeable  than  usual;  and  this  afternoon  when  I  saw 
her  come  up  out  of  his  mine  I  guessed  they  had  had  a 
painful  scene  and  parted.  So  I  told  her  she  had  the 
game  in  her  own  hands,  and  that  I'd  go  on  the  stand  and 
swear  to  what  I  saw.  No  husband  would  believe  anything 
but  the  truth,  nor  this  town  either.  You  might  prove 
that  your  lord  made  a  fool  of  you  and  amused  himself 
elsewhere,  but  you're  done  for  all  the  same;  and  I  guess 
Mr.  Compton  would  manage  his  divorce  all  right.  Then 

two  people  that  are  madly  in  love  will  be  happy " 

Ida's  strength  rushed  back  and  the  world  turned  scarlet. 
She  picked  up  a  heavy  bronze  from  the  table  and  hurled 
it  at  him.  But  Whalen  was  expecting  a  physical  assault 
in  some  form.  He  ducked  and  fled.  When  she  reached 
the  open  door  he  was  not  in  sight. 


XXIV 

watched  the  clock  until  twenty  minutes  after  eleven. 
The  miners  changed  shift  promptly,  and  the  last 
should  have  gone  down  the  Primo  shaft  by  a  quarter  past 
at  the  latest.  The  shaft  house  would  be  empty,  as  no  hoist 
ing  was  being  done  on  the  night  shift. 

She  turned  out  the  light  in  her  living-room,  wrapped 
herself  in  a  dark  lodenmantl,  a  long  cape  with  a  hood 
that  she  had  worn  while  climbing  in  Bavaria,  and  let  her 
self  out.  She  walked  through  the  grove  to  the  edge  of  the 
bluff  above  her  camp  and  stood  for  a  few  moments,  listen 
ing  intently.  Some  ten  minutes  since  she  had  heard  the 
warning  shriek  of  an  automobile  horn,  but  the  garage  of 
her  manager,  who  had  motored  Whalen  into  Butte,  was 
on  the  flat,  and  he  had  had  time  either  to  go  down  into 
the  mine  or  climb  to  his  own  cottage. 

The  moon  was  at  the  full  and  the  scene  as  sharply  out 
lined  as  by  day,  although  less  animated.  Save  for  the 
usual  raucous  noises  of  a  mining  camp  the  only  sign  of 
life  was  in  the  saloon.  Some  one  was  playing  a  pianola, 
and  through  the  open  door  she  saw  men  standing  at  the 
bar.  For  a  moment  she  was  tempted  to  take  the  surface 
path  across  the  camps;  but  the  risk  was  too  great.  Some 
one  was  sure  to  be  abroad,  and  although  she  had  been  will 
ing  to  brave  the  scorn  of  the  world  when  there  was  no 
apparent  alternative,  she  shrank  from  the  plain  Saxon  the 
miners  would  use  if  they  saw  her.  From  Gregory's  shaft 
house  she  could  reach  his  cabin  by  the  path  behind  the 
abandoned  cut. 

A  light  was  burning  in  her  shaft  house.  She  was  not 
expert  enough  to  descend  the  ladder  candle  in  hand,  and 
for  a  moment  faltered  above  the  darkness  of  the  well;  she 
had  not  been  down  before  at  night.  Then  she  reflected  that 
it  was  always  night  in  the  mines  and  descended  without 
further  hesitation. 

At  the  foot  of  the  shaft  the  usual  station  was  one  with 

354 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     355 

the  chamber  left  after  removing  the  first  large  deposit  of 
ore.  They  had  merely  cut  through  the  vein  at  this  point 
without  sloping,  and  the  great  excavation  had  a  lofty 
roof.  Ora  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  candle  near  by.  On 
the  day  of  the  geologists'  visit  a  number  of  miner's  candle 
sticks  had  been  thrust  into  what  little  wood  there  was  in 
the  chamber,  and  the  candles  were  but  half  burnt  out. 
Then  she  lit  the  one  she  had  brought  in  her  pocket.  Ac 
customed  as  she  was  by  this  time  to  the  route  underground 
by  chamber  and  gallery  to  the  Perch  mine,  she  always 
picked  her  way  carefully,  particularly  down  the  first  drift ; 
her  lessees,  impatient  at  the  leanness  of  the  connecting 
vein,  and  not  wishing  to  spend  either  the  time  or  the  money 
to  sink  the  shaft  another  hundred  feet,  had  understoped, 
and  the  holes  were  ill-covered. 

She  crossed  the  large  black  cavern  toward  the  first  of 
these  tunnels,  or  drifts,  sweeping  the  candle  about  her 
head,  and  then  holding  it  downward,  for  she  always 
feared  cave-ins.  The  room  was  almost  untimbered,  owing 
to  the  hardness  of  the  rock. 

She  had  almost  reached  the  mouth  of  the  drift,  when 
she  paused  suddenly,  listened  intently,  and  then  blew  out 
her  candle.  Some  one  was  on  the  ladder.  It  was  one  of 
the  miners,  no  doubt.  Something  had  detained  him  above 
ground,  and  not  daring  to  summon  the  shaft  house  man, 
he  was  sneaking  down  the  ladder.  He  would  go  on  down 
to  the  second  level  of  the  mine.  Ora  stood  motionless,  her 
hood  pulled  over  her  white  face.  Her  miners  were  good 
average  men,  but  the  saloon  flourished,  and  was  no  doubt 
responsible  for  the  present  delinquency. 

Then  once  more  she  listened  intently.  The  upper  part 
of  her  body  stiffened  like  a  startled  animal's.  Whoever 
was  coming  down  was  making  his  first  descent  by  foot ;  not 
only  was  his  progress  slow,  but  he  was  breathing  heavily, 
and  hesitating  between  rungs,  as  if  it  were  his  first  experi 
ence  of  an  inclined  ladder.  Miners  hate  the  shaft  ladder, 
and  will  resort  to  any  subterfuge  to  avoid  it,  but  they  are 
experts  in  "negotiating"  it  nevertheless.  No  doubt  this 
was  some  green  hand,  recently  employed.  Or  possibly  the 
man  was  drunk. 

Then  suddenly  Ora  turned  cold  with  the  chill  of  the 
mine  itself,  a  mere  physical  attribute  that  her  warm  blood 
had  never  deigned  to  notice  before.  A  form  was  slowly 


356    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

coming  into  view  below  the  high  roof  of  the  cavern,  and 
although  it  was  little  more  than  a  blot  on  the  general 
blackness,  Ora's  keen  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  faint  relief 
given  by  the  candle  near  the  shaft,  noted  as  it  descended 
further  that  it  covered  more  of  the  ladder  than  it  should. 
Miners  are  almost  invariably  thin  and  they  wear  overalls. 
This  person  wore  a  heavy  cape  like  her  own.  But  it  was 
not  alone  the  garment,  which  any  miner  would  scorn,  that 
betrayed  the  sex  of  the  invader;  it  may  have  been  the 
physical  awkwardness,  the  shallow  breathing,  or  some 
subtle  psychical  emanation — or  all — that  warned  Ora  of 
the  approach  not  only  of  a  woman  but  of  a  malignant  force. 
And  this  woman  was  following  her.  There  was  no  doubt 
in  her  mind  of  that.  She  suffered  a  moment  or  two  of 
furious  unreasoning  terror  as  she  crouched  against  the  wall 
and  watched  that  shadow  against  a  shadow  slowly  descend 
the  final  rungs  of  the  ladder.  Her  first  impulse  had  been 
to  flee  down  the  drift,  but  there  was  danger  of  falling  into 
one  of  the  gouge  holes  and  disabling  herself.  She  dared 
not  relight  her  candle. 

Shaking,  terrified  as  she  never  had  been  in  her  life— for 
she  was  normally  brave,  and  it  was  not  a  normal  woman 
she  feared  but  that  aura  of  hate  and  lust  for  vengeance- 
undecided,  putting  up  a  frantic  prayer  that  Gregory  would 
come  to  her  rescue,  she  pulled  the  hood  over  her  face  and 
almost  sank  to  her  knees.  The  woman,  breathing  heavily, 
reached  the  last  rung  and  touched  the  ground  as  warily 
as  a  cat.  For  a  moment  she  stood  drawing  in  deep  breaths 
like  sighs,  but  which  escaped,  to  tormented  ears,  like  a  hiss. 
Ora,  her  eyelids  almost  meeting  over  the  intense  concentra 
tion  of  her  gaze,  saw  the  woman  fling  back  the  mantle  that 
covered  her,  throw  out  her  arms  as  if  to  relax  the  muscles 
after  the  strain  of  the  descent.  Then  she  turned  sud 
denly,  snatched  the  candlestick  from  the  wall  and  held  it 
above  her  head. 

For  the  moment  Ora  thought  her  heart  had  stopped. 
The  woman  was  Ida.  Her  heavy  lowered  brows  were  like 
a  heavy  band  across  the  white  ghastliness  of  her  face.  Her 
eyes  glittered  horribly.  Her  lips  were  a  mere  tight  line. 
Her  black  hair,  loosened,  fell  over  her  face.  Ora 's  hypno 
tised  gaze  tore  itself  from  those  slowly  moving  eyes  and 
lowered  itself  instinctively  to  Ida's  right  hand.  It  held 
the  stiletto  she  had  given  her  in  Genoa.  The  slanting  rays 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     357 

of  the  candle  fell  on  the  jewels  of  the  hilt.  Then  she  knew 
that  Ida  had  followed  her  down  into  the  mine  to  kill  her. 

Her  courage  came  back  as  quickly  as  it  had  fled.  Ora's 
brain  might  be  democratic  but  her  soul  was  haughty. 
The  friendship  of  the  past  eighteen  months  between  herself 
and  this  woman  suddenly  shaped  itself  as  forced  and  arti 
ficial,  and  she  was  filled  with  a  cold  surprise  and  anger. 
Who  was  Ida  Hook  that  she  should  presume  to  question 
Ora  Stratton  ?  Similar  reflections,  no  doubt,  stiffened  many 
a  noble  when  on  his  way  to  the  guillotine  at  the  behest 
of  the  canaille. 

Ora  was  beyond  the  ray  of  the  candle  at  present  but 
Ida  was  beginning  to  move  forward,  her  eyes,  almost  blank 
in  spite  of  their  brilliancy,  moving  from  side  to  side,  striv 
ing  to  pierce  the  darkness,  her  head  bent  forward  to  catch 
the  slightest  sound.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  seen  Ora 
go  into  the  shaft  house,  and  knew  that  she  could  not  be 
far  off. 

Ora  took  the  automatic  from  the  bag  at  her  waist, 
pointed  it  at  the  roof  of  the  cave  and  fired  twice.  The  din 
was  terrific  in  that  confined  space.  Ida  shrieked,  dropped 
the  stiletto  and  candle,  and  flung  her  arms  about  her  head. 
Ora  hastily  lighted  two  other  candles,  and  then  retreated 
against  the  wall.  She  believed  that  the  terrible  inhibition 
in  Ida's  tormented  mind  was  shattered,  but  she  kept  the 
automatic  in  her  hand,  nevertheless. 

The  reverberations  died  away  and  once  more  the  mine 
was  as  silent  as  only  a  deserted  level  of  a  mine  can  be. 
Ida  raised  her  head  and  saw  Ora.  She  gave  a  strangled 
cry  and  moved  forward  a  step.  Then  her  arms  fell  heavily 
to  her  side.  She  did  not  even  pick  up  the  dagger.  The 
inhuman  tension  of  her  mind  relaxed,  the  body  barely  had 
force  enough  to  hold  itself  together. 

"I  came  here  to  kill  you,"  she  said.  "But  I  can't  do 
it.  I've  been  mad  for  hours,  and  I  wish  I  could  have 
found  you  in  bed  as  I  thought  I  would.  I  could  have 
killed  you  then.  But  I  saw  you  come  down  here — Have 
you  told  him  ? ' ' 

"No.  He  was  down  in  the  mine  until  eleven.  I  was  on 
my  way  to  tell  him — to  break  down  his  resistance  to 
night!" 

"His  resistance?"  Ida  raised  her  head.  She  had  lost 
the  pitch  necessary  for  murder,  but  her  mind  began  to 


358    PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

recover  its  alertness  and  her  drooping  body  to  set  its 
springs  in  motion.  "What  do  you  mean  by  that?  I 
thought  he  was  in  love  with  you." 

Ora  laughed.  She  was  filled  with  an  utter  despair,  but 
the  knife  was  still  in  Ida  and  she  could  turn  it  round. 
"Oh,  yes,  make  no  doubt  of  that.  He  loves  me  and  will 
as  long  as  he  lives ' 

"Not  much  he  won't!"  roared  Ida.  "If  I've  been  too 
quick  for  you  you  '11  never  tell  him  now,  and  he  practically 
gave  me  his  word  the  other  day  that  he'd  never  even  ask 
me  for  a  divorce  again.  That  means  you  go  and  go  quick, 
and  if  you  think  Gregory  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  sit 
down  and  nurse  your  memory " 

The  blood  flew  to  Ora's  head  and  she  hastily  dropped 
the  automatic  into  her  bag.  "  I  '11  not  go ! "  she  said.  '  *  And 
what  is  more  I  shall  tell  him.  When  Gregory  knows  that 
you  spent  three  hours  in  Mowbray's  rooms  at  night " 

"Mowbray  was  not  there!  He  was  at  the  Country 
Club " 

"Washe?" 

"Yes,  and  it  can  be  proved.  Moreover,  you  know  me 
well  enough " 

4 '  It  doesn  't  matter  what  can  be  proved  or  what  I  believe. 
You  waited  for  Mowbray — Do  you  suppose  that  Gregory 
— or  any  court  of  law " 

"My  God!"  cried  Ida.  "You!  You!  I  think  it  was 
that  drove  me  off  my  head  more  than  the  prospect  of  dis 
grace  and  losing  Gregory.  You!  What  in  God's  name  is 
possessing  you  ?  I  always  knew  that  you  would  be  the  con 
centrated  essence  of  all  damn  fool  women  that  ever  lived 
when  you  did  fall  in  love,  but  I  never  believed  it  was  in 
you  to  do  anything  dishonourable ' 

"And  would  you  have  believed  that  you,  the  concen 
trated  essence  of  all  that  is  cool,  deliberate,  calculating, 
would  ever  be  inspired  to  commit  murder?  And  for  a 
man  ?  What 's  the  use  of  talking  ?  People  possessed  by  love 
either  are  wholly  themselves  while  it  lasts,  or  are  abnormal 
and  should  not  be  held  accountable  even  to  the  law.  I 
suppose  this  means  that  you  too  love  Gregory  Compton?" 

"Yes  it  does!"  cried  Ida,  the  more  vehemently  because 
it  shamed  her  to  put  this  unwonted  weakness  into  words. 
"I  do,  damn  it  all !  I  do.  I  thought  I  was  immune,  but  I 
guess  we  are  all  bora  with  the  microbe  and  it  bites  when 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     359 

the  soil  is  good  and  ready."  Her  anger  had  vanished,  for 
in  spite  of  Ora's  defiance  she  knew  that  she  was  master  of 
the  situation.  She  kicked  the  stiletto  contemptuously  aside, 
clasped  her  hips  with  her  large  firm  hands  and  threw 
back  her  shoulders.  "Now!"  she  said,  "admit  right  here 
that  you  know  I  didn  't  go  to  Mowbray  's  rooms  for  any  old 
intrigue.  That  kind  of  thing  isn't  in  me  and  you  know 
it." 

"I  will  confess  I  was  surprised — I  refused  to  believe  it 
at  first — Oh,  I  suppose  I  don't.  But  it  doesn't  mat 
ter ' 

' '  Are  you  ready  to  come  with  me  this  minute  to  Gregory 
and  tell  him  that  yarn — knowing  that  I  can  prove  Mowbray 
wasn't  there — I  say  go  with  me — not  by  yourself." 

Ora  made  no  reply.  She  was  beaten  but  she  was  not 
ready  to  admit  it. 

"You  may  bet  your  life  on  one  thing,"  continued  Ida. 
"You  go  with  me  or  you  don't  go  at  all,  for  I'll  stick  to  you 
like  wet  paint  until  this  thing  is  settled  once  for  all.  Now 
just  tell  me  what  you  meant  a  while  back  by  Gregory's 
resistance?  When  you  found  I  wouldn't  consent  to  a  di 
vorce — of  course  you  put  him  up  to  ask  me,  you  traitor 
ous  little  white  devil — did  you  want  him  to  elope  with 
you?" 

"Yes  I  did!" 

"And  he  wouldn't?" 

"He — he  would  not  sacrifice  me >: 

"Shucks!  Where  did  you  want  him  to  go?  To  Eu 
rope?" 

"Yes." 

1 1  Good  Lord !  And  what  did  you  think  you  were  going 
to  do  with  him  over  there?  Spoon  in  orange  groves  for 
forty  years?" 

' '  There  are  several  thousand  resources  in  Europe  besides 
orange  groves — but  you  would  never  understand " 

"Oh,  don't  I  understand?  It's  I  that  does  understand, 
not  you,  or  you  would  never  have  made  such  an  asinine 
proposition  to  Gregory  Compton.  Why  on  earth  didn't 
you  propose  some  place  with  mines — Mexico,  Alaska, 
China — Then  you  might  have  stood  some  show — but  Eu 
rope — Gregory — Do  you  remember  those  American  busi 
ness  men  that  always  looked  as  if  they  had  left  their 
minds  in  an  office  at  the  top  of  a  thirty-story  building, 


360     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

their  bodies  were  being  led  round  by  a  string?  The  vision 
of  Gregory  astray  in  Europe  for  the  rest  of  his  life  would 
be  funny  if  it  weren't  so  pathetic.  Talk  about  the  conceit 
of  man.  It  isn  't  a  patch  on  that  of  a  woman  when  she  gets 
the  bug  inside  her  head  that  she  can  be  'everything'  to  a 
man.  I  can  manage  Gregory  till  doomsday  when  I  get 
him  back,  but  you  'd  lose  him  inside  of  six  months  no  matter 
which  way  you  got  him " 

1 1  That  couldn  't  be  true !  I  recognised  that  he  was  mine 
— mine — the  night  we  met  before  I  left " 

"What's  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  met  him  once  before  I  went  abroad  with 
you — we  talked  for  an  hour " 

"And  he  was  the  man  you  wrote  those  letters  to  in 
Europe " 

"Yes." 

' '  And  I  your  most  intimate  friend ! ' ' 

"I  never  sent  them,  and  you  did  not  care  for  him 
then " 

"Oh,  I  don't  see  you  apologising  if  you  had  turned 
heaven  into  hell.  You  made  up  your  mind  then  to  have 
him,  I  suppose?" 

"No.  And  not  even  when  I  came  out  here.  I  only 
wanted  to  be  with  him — know  him  a  little  better — have 
that  much — Oh,  I  couldn't  make  you  understand  any  more 
than  that  I  can  suffer  as  much  as  if  I  were  the  best 
of  women  who  had  lost  her  husband  by  death.  It 
was  only  after  Mowbray  came — there  seemed  a  pros 
pect- 


<.  t 


Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  blame  you  so  much,  for  I 
certainly  bluffed  it  pretty  well.  I  can  forgive  you  for  that 
but  not  for  meaning  to  make  me  out  a  strumpet  and  send 
me  to  the  muck  heap,  disgraced  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 
Well,  come  along.  Let  us  go  straight  to  Gregory  and  let 
him  decide." 

Ora  did  not  move. 

"  It 's  either  that  or  you  go  back  to  Butte  with  me  tonight 
and  start  for  Europe  tomorrow  morning. ' ' 

"I  know  when  I  am  beaten.  I  will  leave.  And  don't 
imagine  that  you  have  won  because  you  are  in  the  right. 
We  have  emerged  from  the  dark  ages  of  superstition,  and 
we  know  that  the  wicked  are  not  punished  if  they  are 
strong  enough.  Nor  are  the  virtuous  rewarded  for  mere 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     361 

virtue — not  once  in  ten  thousand  times.  You  have  won 
because  you  are  stronger  than  I.  That  is  all." 

"It's  enough  for  me." 

Ora  laughed.  "Do  you  really  believe  that  you  can  win 
him  back  ?  He  '11  not  forget  me,  because  I  can  always  fire 
his  imagination.  He  is  as  indifferent  to  you  as  only  a 
man  can  be  when  the  woman  is  an  old  story." 

' '  That  was  a  nasty  one !  But  I  'm  not  worrying.  I  have 
been  at  a  disadvantage  since  I  got  back,  thinking  my  only 
rival  was  a  hole  in  the  ground.  But  take  this  from  me, 
Ora :  when  a  woman  knows  where  she  stands,  and  has  the 
inside  track,  and  has  her  nerve  with  her,  the  man  has 
no  show  whatever.  Nor  the  other  woman.  I'll  get  him 
back  all  right.  And  he'll  forget  you.  That's  a  man's 
long  suit." 

"We'll  neither  of  us  ever  know,  so  it  doesn't  matter. 
I  shall  never  see  him  again.  That  is  all  that  matters  to 
me." 

"And  Valdobia?" 

"I  shall  marry  him,  I  suppose — after  a  while." 

"I  don't  mind  saying  that  he  is  much  too  good  for 
you. ' ' 

"Possibly.     And  he'll  love  me  the  more." 

"And  shall  you  tell  him  of  this  little  interlude?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Well,  I  always  have  maintained  that  the  woman  who 
confessed  anything  to  a  man  was  a  fool,  but  it  certainly  is 
a  queer  mix  up." 

' '  I  don 't  know  that  I  should  so  much  mind  telling  him, 
after  all.  Men  are  too  practical  to  resent  any  but  the 
literal  infidelity.  And  he  is  the  only  person  living  that 
understands  me.  Gregory  does  not  and  never  would  care 
to.  Why  could  not  I  have  had  this  madness  for  the  one 
man  who  is  really  fitted  to  be  my  mate — whose  ideas  of 
life  are  my  own,  who  has  so  much  the  same  order  of 
mind?  Why  should  I  love  Gregory  Compton,  a  man  I 
not  only  cannot  marry,  but  with  whom  I  never  could  find 
a  real  companionship.  My  God!  Why?  Why?" 

"There  are  several  ways  of  getting  ahead  of  life,"  said 
Ida  drily,  "and  one  is  not  asking  'Why'  too  often.  That's 
just  one  of  her  little  traps  to  keep  you  discontented.  You 
and  Gregory  Compton!  It  certainly  is  funny.  What  did 
you  talk  about  anyway?" 


362     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Ora  threw  out  her  arms  and  laughed  wildly.  "Ores. 
Ores.  Ores.  I  tried  to  interest  him  in  many  of  the  things 
that  interested  me.  He  didn't  even  try  to  understand 
what  I  was  driving  at.  One  night  I  offered  to  read  to 
him — I  had  a  lively  new  volume  of  memoirs  in  mind — he 
asked  if  I  had  any  work  on  copper.  I  read  to  him  for 
three  hours  from  a  book  called  'The  Copper  Mines  of 
the  World/  technicalities  and  all.  Of  course  he  had  read 
it  before,  but  it  seemed  to  delight  him.  We  literally  had 
no  common  meeting  ground  but  ores,  but  we  loved  each 
other  madly.  Oh,  don't  tell  me  that  it  was  mere  pas 
sion  !"  she  broke  out  as  angrily  as  if  Ida  had  interrupted 
her.  "Valdobia  is  attractive  in  far  more  ways  and  better 
looking.  Gregory  has  met  many  women. — If  that  were 
all  we  should  have  bored  each  other  long  since — we  never 
could  have  held  each  other's  imaginations  while  apart. — 
I  tell  you  it  is  some  deep  primary  bond — something  that 
older  races  perhaps  could  explain.  Why  should  we  meet 
at  all  in  this  life " 

"I  guess  when  we  understand  all  the  different  brands 
of  love  we  '11  vaccinate  and  be  immune.  Shut  your  teeth, 
Ora,  and  take  your  medicine.  And  for  heaven's  sake  let 
us  get  out  of  this  damp  hole.  I'll  help  you  and  Ouster 
pack  and  we'll  go  to  Butte  in  the  car  I  came  out  in.  Have 
I  got  to  go  up  that  ladder?" 

"No,  we'll  go  over  to  the  Perch  mine  and  ring  for  the 
skip  there.  My  engineer  is  not  on  duty  during  the  'grave 
yard  shift.'  " 


O 


XXV 

N  the  following  morning  Ida,  having  seen  Ora  on  the 
train  bound  for  Chicago,  went  at  once  to  a  public 
garage,  rented  the  touring  car  she  had  used  the  night 
before,  and  was  driven  out  to  the  mines.  She  walked  up 
to  the  cabin  on  the  crest  of  Perch  of  the  Devil  and,  finding 
it  empty,  summoned  a  miner  who  was  lounging  near  and 
bade  him  call  Mr.  Compton.  The  man  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  use  the  telephone  in  the  office,  obtained  connection  with 
the  second  level  of  the  mine,  and  announced  in  a  few 
moments  that  the  boss  was  on  his  way  up. 

Ida,  who  had  dropped  wearily  into  a  chair,  merely 
nodded  as  Gregory  entered.  He  was  as  pale  as  a  dark 
man  can  be,  and  his  voice  when  he  spoke  sounded  as  if 
he  had  been  running. 

''What  is  it?"  he  demanded.  "Has  anything  hap 
pened " 

"To  Ora?  Nothing,  except  that  she  is  on  her  way  East 
and  to  Europe.  Tired,  no  doubt,  but  quite  well." 

Gregory  drew  a  short  sigh  of  relief,  and  sat  down  before 
his  table,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  "Well?"  he 
asked.  "What  is  it?" 

"I  haven't  come  out  here  to  make  a  scene,  or  even  to 
reproach  you.  I  believe  that  I  should  have  the  self- 
restraint  to  ignore  the  subject  altogether  if  it  were  not 
for  that  man,  Whalen.  Some  one  must  put  an  extinguisher 
on  him  at  once  and  you  are  the  one  to  do  it.  That  is  why 
I  am  obliged  to  tell  you  that  I  found  out  yesterday  about 
you  and  Ora.  I  had  begun  to  believe  there  must  be  some 
woman  in  the  case  but  I  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of 
Ora.  I  not  only  believed  her  to  be  the  soul  of  honour,  but 
I  thought  she  was  really  in  love  with  the  Marchese  Val- 
dobia,  a  Roman  who  has  everything  to  offer  that  a  woman 
of  her  type  demands,  and  to  marry  whom  she  had  de 
manded  a  divorce  from  Mark.  She  has  been  tacitly  en 
gaged  to  him  ever  since  we  left  Europe." 

363 


364     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

Ida  saw  the  muscles  in  Gregory's  long  body  stiffen  as 
if  he  were  about  to  spring,  and  his  eyes  glitter  through 
the  lattice  of  his  fingers.  But  he  made  no  comment,  and 
after  giving  him  time  to  assimilate  her  information,  she 
added  more  gently: 

"Console  yourself  with  the  reflection  that  she  would 
have  thrown  him  over  for  you.  But  she  knows  now  what 
a  mistake  she  would  have  made.  Ora  is  one  of  those  ata 
vistic  Americans  that  are  far  more  at  home  in  Europe 
than  in  the  new  world.  She  has  gone  where  she  belongs 
and  Valdobia  is  her  man." 

She  paused  again.  He  was  still  silent,  and  she  continued 
less  fluently:  "Now  I  come  to  the  unpleasant  part  for  my 
self.  To  begin  at  the  beginning:  I  made  an  enemy  of 
little  Whalen  before  I  went  abroad.  He  had  the  sublime 
impudence  to  kiss  me  one  day,  and  I  simply  took  him  by 
the  back  of  his  neck  and  the  seat  of  his  pants  and  threw 
him  out  of  the  window.  He  has  had  it  in  for  me  ever 
since. ' ' 

In  spite  of  the  various  emotions  raging  within  him, 
Gregory  laughed  aloud  at  the  picture.  The  atmosphere 
felt  clearer.  Ida  went  on  with  more  confidence: 

* '  Of  course  you  know  that  Lord  John  Mowbray  followed 
me  here.  He  wanted  me  to  get  a  divorce  and  marry  him, 
as  Valdobia  had  planned  with  Ora.  I  liked  him  well 
enough,  but  even  if  I  had  been  free  it  never  would  have 
occurred  to  me  to  marry  him,  and  no  one  knew  better 
than  he  that  I  didn't  care  a  copper  cent  for  him.  His 
hope  after  he  came  here — a  hope  in  which  he  was  encour 
aged  by  Ora — was  that,  as  you  were  so  loudly  indifferent, 
pride  might  drive  me  to  leave  you  and  make  a  brilliant 
marriage.  Well,  I  was  tempted  for  a  moment.  It  was  on 
the  night  of  the  day  I  had  been  down  in  the  mine  with 
you.  I  believed  that  I  had  given  myself  away  absolutely, 
offered  myself  and  been  refused  as  casually  as  if  I  had 
been  some  woman  of  the  streets;  told  you  almost  in  so 
many  words  that  I  loved  you  and  been  invited  with  ex 
cruciating  politeness  to  go  to  the  devil. 

"Well,  that  night  I  nearly  went  off  my  head.  I  had  a 
whole  mind,  for  a  few  moments,  to  ring  up  Mowbray  and 
tell  him  that  I  would  get  my  freedom  and  leave  the  coun 
try  for  ever.  But  that  passed.  I  couldn't  have  done  it, 
and  I  knew  it,  in  spite  of  the  blood  pumping  in  my  head. 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     365 

I  went  out  for  a  walk,  for  I  had  smashed  a  few  things 
already.  Then  the  mad  impulse  came  to  me  to  call  on 
Mowbray.  I  knew  that  I'd  treat  him  no  better  than  I 
had  treated  Whalen  if  he  so  much  as  tried  to  kiss  me.  But 
I  wasn't  afraid.  He  was  too  keen  on  marrying  me  to  take 
any  risks.  What  I  wanted  was  to  do  something  real 
devilish — to  be  more  elegant,  something  quite  the  antith 
esis  of  all  that  is  comme  il  faut.  So  I  went.  Mowbray 
wasn't  there.  He  had  gone  to  the  dance  at  the  Country 
Club.  I  sat  down  to  wait  for  him  and  fell  asleep.  When 
I  awoke  it  was  after  one  o  'clock  and  I  was  still  alone.  I  can 
tell  you  I  got  out  pretty  quick.  I  had  slept  the  blood  out 
of  my  head  and  I  felt  like  a  fool.  I  bribed  the  Jap  not 
to  tell  Mowbray  or  anyone  else. 

1 '  Well,  the  point  of  all  this  is — and  the  only  reason  I 
have  told  you — Whalen  saw  me  go  in  and  waited  for  me 
to  come  out.  He  believed  that  he  had  found  his  chance 
for  revenge  at  last.  No  doubt  he  would  have  told  you  on 
the  way  to  Helena,  but  he  hasn't  the  spunk  of  a  road 
agent  at  the  wrong  end  of  a  gun.  So  he  took  his  tale  to 
Ora  when  he  got  back. — But  before  I  go  any  further 
I  want  you  to  say  that  you  believe  I  had  no  wrong 
motive  in  going  to  Mowbray 's  rooms.  Of  course  a  hundred 
people  could  testify  that  he  did  not  leave  the  Country 
Club  until  three  o'clock,  but  that  is  not  the  point  with 
you." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Gregory.  He  was  intensely  in 
terested. 

Ida  drew  a  long  sigh  and  the  colour  came  back  to  her 
face.  Her  eyes,  heavy  with  fatigue,  sparkled.  "Well! 
Whalen  was  all  for  drinking  his  cup  of  revenge  down  to 
the  dregs.  It  wasn't  enough  to  spring  a  mine  under  me, 
he  must  see  what  I  looked  like  when  it  blew  up  the  first 
time.  After  he  told  Ora  he  posted  into  Butte  and  man 
aged  to  get  into  my  house  unannounced — that  maid  has 
been  fired.  I  was  in  the  library  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  The  doorway  was  good  enough  for  him.  He  told 
me.  Some  time  I'll  tell  you  all  I  felt.  After  he  had  lit 
out  with  the  Venus  of  Milo  flying  after  him,  I  went  stark 
mad.  I  made  up  what  mind  I  had  left  to  kill  Ora  and  kill 
her  quick." 

"What?"  Gregory  sat  up  and  stared  at  her,  his  eyes 
wide  open.  And,  astounded  as  he  was,  the  immortal  vanity 


366     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

of  man  thrilled  responsively  to  the  reckless  and  destruc 
tive  passions  he  had  inspired  in  these  two  remarkable 
women. 

"I  got  a  touring  car  and  arrived  at  the  foot  of  her  hill — 
a  little  after  eleven  it  was,  I  guess.  There  was  a  light  in 
her  living-room,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  wait  until  I 
was  sure  she  was  alone  and  in  her  bedroom.  Then  I 
intended  to  get  in  somehow  or  other  and  kill  her  with  that 
stiletto  she  gave  me  in  Genoa.  It  was  a  notion  of  hers  that 
I  had  been  one  of  the  wicked  dames  of  the  Renaissance, 
and  I  just  naturally  took  the  hint.  While  I  was  waiting 
the  light  went  out  and  almost  immediately  I  saw  her  hurry 
down  the  path  that  led  to  her  claim  and  go  into  her  shaft 
house.  I  knew  on  the  instant  that  she  was  going  to  you, 
and  that  she  took  that  route  to  avoid  being  seen.  My 
mind  could  grasp  that  much  in  spite  of  the  fixed  idea  in 
it — that  she  was  on  her  way  to  tell  you  Whalen's  story. 
This  was  true  as  I  found  out  afterwards.  She  went  that 
night,  partly  because  she  couldn't  keep  it  any  longer, 
partly  because  she  wanted  to  tell  you  when  you  were  alone 
in  your  cabin  at  night  and  she  could  also  bind  you  hand 
and  foot  with  that  Lorelei  hair  of  hers.  It  takes  the  hyper- 
civilised  super-refined  Oras  to  stick  at  nothing  when  their 
primitive  instincts  loosen  up. 

"Well — I  went  into  the  shaft  house,  and  listened  until 
I  no  longer  could  hear  her  on  the  ladder.  Then  I  fol 
lowed.  Glory!  Shall  I  ever  forget  going  down  that  lad 
der?  I  felt  as  if  every  muscle  in  my  body  were  being 
torn  up  by  the  roots;  and  I  had  to  carry  the  stiletto 
between  my  teeth.  And  pitch  dark.  All  my  clothes  in 
the  way  every  step.  It  was  enough  to  take  the  starch  out 
of  tragedy,  and  I  guess  it  would  have  flattened  me  out  if 
it  hadn  't  been  just  the  one  thing  that  could  make  me  mad 
der  still. 

' '  I  '11  give  you  the  details  of  that  scene  some  other  time. 
I'm  too  tired  now.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  she  had  a 
pistol  and  made  such  an  infernal  racket  with  it — shooting 
at  the  roof — that  something  busted  in  my  head  and  I 
came  to.  Then  we  had  it  out.  She  agreed  to  leave  because 
she  knew  me  too  well  to  believe  I  had  gone  to  Mowbray's 
rooms  for  any  horrid  purpose,  and  he  hadn't  been  there 
anyway.  I  told  her  that  if  she  told  you  it  would  have  to 
be  before  me,  and  she  knew  that  she  couldn't  brazen  it 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     367 

through.  So  I  packed  her  and  got  her  off  this  morning. 
That  means  that  I  had  no  sleep  last  night. " 

She  stood  up  and  Gregory  rose  also.  "Now,  there  are 
two  things  more,"  she  said  with  no  lack  of  decision  in  her 
voice,  whatever  her  fatigue  of  body.  "You  must  settle 
Whalen,  and  you  must  move  to  Butte  and  live  in  my  house, 
even  if  you  are  only  there  once  or  twice  a  week.  Whalen, 
the  moment  he  discovers  that  Ora  has  gone,  will  run  about 
Butte  defaming  me,  or  carry  the  story  to  the  papers.  It 
wouldn't  do  me  much  good  to  prove  that  Mowbray  wasn't 
there.  People  like  to  believe  the  worst,  and  in  time  would 
forget  that  Mowbray  had  been  at  the  Club  on  that  par 
ticular  night.  My  set  might  be  all  right.  But  the  rest — 
and  my  servants — and  Kuby  and  Pearl!  They  always 
use  the  word  'bad,'  and,  as  Ora  says,  an  intrigue  is  only 
decent  in  a  foreign  language.  It  gives  me  the  horrors  to 
think  of  it.  But  if  we  are  seen  together  twice  a  week,  and 
you  are  known  to  be  living  in  the  house,  however  often 
you  must  be  absent,  nobody  will  listen  to  a  story  that  is 
not  headed  toward  the  divorce  court." 

"I'll  buy  Whalen 's  claim  and  tell  him  to  get  out  of 
Montana.  He  '11  go !  As  for  the  rest  of  your  programme — 
please  be  sure,  Ida,  that  I  stand  ready  to  protect  you  now 
and  always.  You  are  not  only  my  wife  but  an  extraordi 
nary  woman,  and  I  am  very  proud  of  you." 

"Oh,  the  extraordinary  woman  hasn't  been  born  yet,  in 
spite  of  the  big  fight  the  sex  is  putting  up,"  said  Ida 
lightly,  as  they  left  the  cabin  and  walked  down  the  hill. 
"When  women  really  are  extraordinary  they  will  be  just 
as  happy  without  men  as  they  now  want  to  be  with  them. 
They  try  with  all  their  might  to  be  hard,  and  they  can  ring 
outside  like  metal,  but  inside  they  are  just  one  perpetual 
shriek  for  the  right  man  to  come  along — that  is  all  but  a 
few  hundred  thousand  tribadists.  But  they've  made  a 
beginning,  and  one  day  they'll  really  be  able  to  take  men 
as  incidentally  as  men  take  women.  Then  we'll  all  be 
happy.  Don't  you  fool  yourself  that  that's  what  I'm 
aiming  at,  though.  I  'm  the  sort  that  hangs  on  to  her  man 
like  grim  death." 

"You're  all  right!"  said  Gregory,  who,  man-like,  was 
automatically  readjusting  himself  to  the  inevitable. 

He  handed  her  into  the  tonneau  of  the  car,  and  tucked 
the  robe  about  her.  She  gave  his  hand  a  hearty  friendly 


368     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

shake,  for  she  was  much  too  wise  and  too  tired  for  senti 
ment.  "Don't  you  worry  about  Ora,"  she  said.  "Ouster 
is  with  her  and  she  has  the  drawing-room,  and  is  probably 
sound  asleep  at  this  moment.  It  must  be  very  restful  to 
get  a  tragic  love  affair  off  your  chest." 

And  then  the  car  rolled  off  and  she  fell  asleep  at  once. 


PART  III 


PART  III 

HHHEY  stood  together  in  the  dawn,  the  blue  dawn  of 
A  Montana.  Silver  stars  were  winking  dimly  in  the 
silver  sky,  clear  save  above  the  glittering  peaks  of  the 
distant  range,  which  reflected  the  blue  of  a  bank  of  clouds 
above.  And  all  the  vast  and  snowy  expanse  was  blue ;  and 
the  snow  on  the  pine  trees  of  the  forest. 

No  one  stirred  in  the  two  camps,  not  abroad  at  least; 
and  even  the  shacks  and  larger  buildings  built  with  as 
little  regard  for  beauty  were  transformed  and  glorified 
by  the  white  splendour  of  winter.  On  the  crest  of  Perch 
of  the  Devil  was  a  long  gracefully  built  bungalow,  also 
heavily  laden  with  snow,  and  between  the  posts  of  its 
verandah  hung  icicles,  iridescent  blue  in  the  dawn. 

A  small  lawn  had  been  cultivated,  and  they  leaned  over 
the  gate  of  the  fence  that  surrounded  it,  not  wrapped  in 
one  buffalo  robe,  but  in  heavy  automobile  coats,  their 
heads  protected  from  the  intense  cold  by  fur  caps.  But 
they  stood  close  together,  and  even  a  passing  stranger 
would  have  known  that  there  was  harmony  between  them. 
Both  were  looking  at  the  cold  loveliness  of  the  dawn  and 
admiring  it  subconsciously,  and  both  were  thinking  of 
other  things.  Gregory  was  visualising  a  ranch  he  had 
bought  not  long  since  near  those  mountains,  and  the  wire 
gold  but  a  few  feet  below  the  surface,  found  a  fortnight 
ago  while  ditching.  He  had  his  gold  mine  at  last,  but  it 
merely  would  hasten  his  grooming  for  the  millionaire 
brotherhood,  and  had  given  him  none  of  the  exultant 
ecstasy  he  had  dreamed  of  in  the  days  before  he  had 
opened  Perch  of  the  Devil.  The  gold  mine  was  not  in  his 
hill!  Only  the  sharp,  cool,  calculating  business  wing  of 
his  brain  appreciated  it.  The  mine  beneath  his  feet  was 
still  the  object  of  his  deep  affections. 

And  sometimes,  down  in  the  depths  of  that  mine  (never 
above  ground),  he  sat  alone  for  a  few  moments  and  thought 
of  Ora.  He  had  forced  her  out  of  his  mind  when  she  went 

371 


372     PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL 

put  of  his  life,  but  nothing  could  dislodge  her  from  his 
ivory  tower,  although  in  time  to  come  she  might  gather 
dust  for  years  on  end.  For  months  after  she  married  Val- 
dobia  she  seemed  to  have  taken  his  memory  to  Rome  with 
her;  but  she  brought  it  back  in  time. 

In  those  rare  moments  when  he  peered  through  the  win 
dows  of  that  inner  temple,  he,  too,  sometimes  asked, 
"Why?"  What  had  it  all  meant?  It  had  been  perfect 
love — yet  so  lamentably  imperfect;  not  only  because  they 
were  torn  apart,  but  because  they  would  not  have  found 
permanent  happiness  together.  Between  some  subtle  es 
sence  of  their  beings  there  was  an  indissoluble  bond,  but 
their  minds  were  not  in  accord,  and  neither  would  have 
been  adaptable  save  during  that  fluid  period  when  even 
strong  egos  lose  their  bearings  and  float  on  that  inevitable 
sea  of  many  tides  called  Love ;  knowing  that  when  it  casts 
them  on  the  shore  whence  they  came,  once  more  will  they 
be  as  malleable  as  rock  crystal.  But  what  had  it  all  meant  ? 

And  his  wife  made  him  very  happy.  He  found  her 
increasingly  desirable  as  a  life  companion.  She  adapted 
herself  to  every  angle  of  his  character  while  losing  none 
of  her  own  picturesque  individuality;  made  no  impossible 
exactions  either  on  his  soul  or  his  time ;  was  always  beauti 
ful  to  look  at;  and  the  most  level-headed  of  his  friends. 

Even  men  of  less  complicated  egos  have  been  able  to 
love  two  women  at  once  and  survive. 

And  Ida?  She  at  least  had  what  she  wanted,  she  was 
a  philosopher,  and  therefore  as  happy  as  may  be.  By 
constant  manoeuvring  she  saw  more  of  her  busy  husband 
than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  American  wives  married  to 
too  successful  men.  She  had  made  herself  so  necessary 
to  him  that  he  returned  from  his  many  absences  almost  as 
eager  to  see  her  as  his  mine.  On  these  hurried  trips  she 
never  accompanied  him,  not  only  because  it  was  wise  to 
let  him  miss  her,  and  to  think  of  her  always  in  the  home 
setting,  but  because  they  gave  her  the  opportunity  to 
retain  her  hold  on  Butte;  to  enjoy  her  beautiful  house 
there  and  her  many  friends. 

Suddenly  Gregory  raised  his  head.  Then  he  lifted  the 
ear  flap  of  his  fur  cap.  High  above  there  was  a  loud  hum 
ming,  as  of  the  wind  along  telegraph  wires,  or  the  droning 
of  many  bees,  or  the  strumming  of  an  aerial  harp.  The 
month  was  March  and  the  weather  forty  degrees  below 


PERCH    OF    THE    DEVIL     373 

zero.  The  very  sky,  whose  silver  was  growing  dim,  looked 
frosted,  but  a  moment  later  Gregory  felt  a  warm  puff  of 
air  on  his  cheek. 

"The  Chinook!"  he  said  softly. 

Another  puff  touched  them  both  lightly,  then  a  long 
wave  of  warm  air  swept  down  and  about  them. 

"It's  chinooking,  certainly,"  said  Ida,  opening  her  fur 
coat  and  pushing  back  her  cap.  "I  hope  that  means  we've 
had  the  last  of  winter." 

Again  there  was  a  long  diving  wave,  almost  hot  in  its 
contrast  to  the  cold  air  rising  from  the  ground,  and  still 
accompanied  by  that  humming  orchestra  above.  But  in  a 
few  moments  the  hum  had  deepened  into  a  roar  down  in 
the  tree  tops  and  about  the  corners  of  the  buildings  on  the 
hill.  The  icicles  fell  from  the  eaves  and  lay  shattered  and 
dissolving  on  the  porch,  the  snow  was  blown  up  in  frosty 
clouds  and  melted  as  it  fell. 

"It's  the  last  of  winter,  I  guess,"  said  Gregory.  "We're 
not  likely  to  have  another  long  spell  of  cold.  Spring  has 
come.  And  so  has  daylight.  Let's  go  in,  old  girl." 


THE   END 


; 

Per  cli  r;1  ;/..-  -  -  -^ev 


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